Archive of Our Own

He knows what he's doing when he leans over the edge of the pool like that, eyes low and dilated already. Mist curls around him languidly, but even that can't hide the desire oozing from his skin. 

It's been nearly a week since you've been allowed more than a few stolen moments with him, and it seems unfair. The village had stolen Zayne away from you and treated him as some chaste, benevolent deity. They doted on him like a captive prince, perfect and spoiled, but only so long as he followed their rules. And they were rather strict on enforcing them, as well as having Zayne rehearse the ceremony.

The entire thing seems a little unfair, and backwards to you. Why should a deity be trapped in a pretty cage and be made to follow the command of mortals? 

Should a deity not be worshipped?

He deserves to be, you think, as you run your palms up the slope of his back. The chains adorning his body make small sounds above the running water, and you watch Zayne melt into your hands. He drops lower into his arms, and moans when you press harder. 

It's beautiful. 

The robes he wore for the ceremony were elegant, and did give him a gentle divine aura. The sort of beauty you wanted to preserve. This feels like that same man, but vulnerable. The humanity that lives inside of an ageless unknowable god, unaffected by human thoughts or desires like greed, or lust. 

This is not a god, this is Zayne, and he deserves to be worshipped all the same. 

It doesn't take much for your hands to slide down to his hips and take hold of them to pull him against you, he had already mostly gotten there on his own. 

There is no shyness in his reaction, as he gasps when you roll your hips against his ass. The action is nothing more than a tease for both of you. You can't really feel anything, and you're not actually stimulating him in any meaningful way, but fantasy alone is apparently enough for him.

So you do it again, and watch his head fall between his shoulder blades. A moan is muffled against his arm. 

“So needy tonight, Zaynie, did you really miss me that much?” You stroke a thumb against his hip and hold him fast, moving in small circles against him. 

“Yes,” he breathes with no hesitation, “it was supposed to be our vacation and I didn't get to spend any time with you.” It's petulant. You laugh, and run a few fingers up his spine. It sends a shiver through his back, and his breath shudders. 

“I don't think that's how the deity of the mountain should be acting.”

Zayne huffs. “If I am a deity, then shouldn't I get to do what I want?”

“Hm, maybe if you were the god of fussy toddlers.”

Zayne turns over his shoulder enough to glare at you, but you take that moment to move your hand down, between his legs where you cup his twitching balls in your palm. 

“You–” he starts, and breaks off with a sigh when you squeeze and roll them. It does enough to distract him for a moment, and you lay yourself across his back, not tall enough to get up to his ear by a longshot, but you can wrap your arms around his waist.

“If you're a deity,” you hum, kissing the warm, soft skin of his back while your hands roam his chest and stomach, “then don't you require an offering? What gifts please this fussy god?”

He still doesn't seem pleased by the connection to himself and any sort of divinity, but if he could see himself, you think no one could argue. He's the sort of beauty that's just out of plain sight. The kind you don't notice until you look at him a second time. Something on the edge of divine, a god who aches to live among mortals. To live, and love, and die like all the rest. 

“Fussy gods don't ask for gifts, they demand them.” Zayne's voice has gone soft and breathy, and his moan is desperate, almost cutting himself off when you reach further down to cup the heat between his thighs. 

“Oh?” You muse, lips and teeth still carving a path up and down the knobs of his spine, unable to resist sinking your teeth into the meat of him. You want to mark him everywhere. Let the universe see this god kneel to you, let it know he belongs not to it, but to you. 

“Then tell me, what does this fussy god demand? What will please his grace?”

You stand back up, and Zayne is flat against the rock now, his legs spread in the water to make room for you. He looks so pretty with the sheer skirt floating away from him in the water. It's easy to push it away from his backside so you can grope him properly. Two handfuls isn't enough to cover it by far, but you still get a good enough hold to squeeze. It makes Zayne whine quietly. 

“You,” he says, and you love how breathless he gets like this, “you are enough.”

“This greedy and fussy god wants to keep me. Shouldn't you be above such things?” 

You're teasing him, distracting, waiting for the moment when the wheels stop turning in that big head of his and he surrenders to his desires. 

“I,” He says, and stiffens a little when you pull down his shorts over the curve of his ass, exposing his bare flesh to the warm, rushing water. 

“I am above nothing when it comes to you.” It comes out in a rush, like a confession, his eyes on the rock in front of him, between his elbows. “Divinity or not, you are my only desire. I would endure anything if it meant I could be closer to you.”

It hits like a blow freezing you for just a moment by the raw, blunt way he declares his devotion for you. Because you know it's true. You know you could be much crueler to Zayne and he would still remain as close to your side as he could. You could love another man, and he would be there to congratulate you at your wedding. He would be the one pulling your hair back and protecting your dress when you threw up over the toilet later in the night. He would be the one to hold you when you eventually divorced the other man, and he would do it without ever expecting you to fall into his bed for it. Zayne would love you quietly, patiently, even if you never loved him back. The way a flower loves the sun. 

“I am the blessing the god asks for as his reward for his kindness?”

Zayne huffs in a way you recognize instantly as annoyance, and turns in the water, suddenly looming over you. It's the first good look you've gotten at his face in a few minutes, and you're pleased to see it tinged red, his eyes slightly narrowed, but dilated and dark, and his breath unsteady through his nose. He looks especially cute with those little shorts bunched around his thighs, the stretchy waistband keeping his obviously hard cock trapped beneath the fabric.

“Please,” he says so softly, bending down to rest his forehead against yours, “I don't want to be a god.” It comes out so needy and desperate that it feels like an honest confession, but you can't be sure if it just sounds that way because he's so worked up. 

“I just want to be Zayne, I just want to be yours. That's enough.” His hands find their home around your waist, and he curls around you further to hide in the crook of your neck. 

This is how you know it's been too long since you've taken proper care of your Zaynie, if he's gotten this emotional this quickly. It's not uncommon for him to get emotional about sex and love, the two are one and the same to him, but he gets this way more so when you haven't had a scene with him in a while. Couple that with a vacation that was primed for much more sex than you've been able to have, plus the near complete removal of one another, and it's no wonder he must be feeling needy. 

You wrap your arms around his waist and press your ear against his chest, where you can hear how quickly his heart beats for you. 

“Do you want me to take care of you tonight?” You ask almost in a whisper, against his warm skin as your nails drag over his back. It makes him shudder, but a second later he's thawing into a puddle in your arms.

Zayne tilts his head, his nose buried in your neck, and the breath from it tickles. He hesitates. 

"Please.” It comes out once you give him a moment of silence. You've trained him well, he's learning that he is allowed to voice what he desires. That service does not equate denial. 

“Good boy.” Right next to your ear, you can hear the tiniest whimper on his lips, and if you could see it, you have to guess you would have seen his cock jump in those little shorts too. 

“In that case,” You pull away from his clinging embrace, and cup both of his cheeks as he looks at you. He's already halfway down into subspace, you can tell by the look in his eyes. On the edge of falling the rest of the way, just waiting for permission. “What does my fussy, greedy Zaynie desire then?”

That question alone is almost as bad as a punishment for him, he hates being asked what he wants. What he prefers is to simply be used. To be a vessel for your pleasure, even if it leaves him unsatisfied. At times, that's even what he prefers.

If there were a way for his face to get redder, you think it would, by the way his eyelashes flutter, and his thumb rubs at your hip. All the things you two have done, and he is still so shy at first. You just need to turn off that big smart brain of his, and his bashfulness will fade behind his lust.

Once again, patiently waiting in silence is all it takes for Zayne to work up the courage to speak, but it's so quiet you almost miss what he says despite how close you two are. 

“I want you inside me.”

The arousal that lights up inside you is fierce and bright. You have pegged him several times before, and he enjoys it much more than he pretends to let on. It's amazing how easy it is to fuck Zayne dumb, to see all lucidity leave those sharp hazel eyes and cloud over with mindless pleasure. When his muscles go lax, his mouth falls open and he gasps and moans with each thrust into his body. When he fully surrenders and stops fighting the ropes around his wrists, accepting what he's being given. When the muscles in his thighs start quivering, when he starts begging you so sweetly to cum, even though his cock has remained untouched the entire time. 

Without thinking, your fingers tighten into the hair at the nape of his neck, and you watch his eyes nearly roll back at the sensation. His inhale is sharp and stilted.

No one would know it, but whether he's respected, perfect, surgeon and mentor Dr. Zayne Li, or the innocent, obedient, and chaste god of the mountain, for you? He's a slut for you. 

“Is that what you want tonight? After all those days apart, my Zaynie wants me to fuck him?” Your other hand moves back down to his bare ass, and you shamelessly reach between his cheeks to probe the pad of your finger around his pretty hole. Dark eyebrows pull together with a little frown at the gentle teasing. Greedy boy. 

“Yes.” That comes out with more confidence, and he leans down to press a kiss to your lips as you play at the entrance of his body. 

“Say it.” You whisper against his lips, holding him against you with the hand still in his hair. Zayne shivers in your embrace. 

“I want it.” Is what he manages after a moment, a bit hoarse with reluctance. 

“No.” You pull him back, and look straight into his eyes, half lidded. He's burning with shame. “Tell me you want me to fuck you. Say it.” The command is firm, but not unkind. It simply demands an answer. 

Zayne takes in a deep breath and you watch him choose to surrender to his desires. To choose vulnerability and the possibility of rejection. You watch his shoulders slump and the intensity in his eyes grow darker. 

“I want you… to fuck me.” It's said with slow deliberation, each word enunciated so as to not be misheard.

So this is what god desires when he tastes the sweet sin of man. Not power, or domination, but to see what faith and subjugation feels like. To learn what it is to want and understand wanting. To be selfish. To be greedy, and fussy if he so wishes. And to receive pleasure and love all the same. To be imperfect and still be cherished for it. 

With your grip on his hair, you pull him closer, until you can whisper in his ear. “Do you want to wait for it?” 

Your strap on wasn't on your packing list, unfortunately, so as much as you would love to take Zayne back to your room and watch his beautiful body as he rolls his hips on top of you, that won't be a possibility until you get home.

He moans, taking the opportunity to press open mouthed kisses to your throat like it's a mindless action. An instinct rather than a conscious choice. “What if I told you,” he says, airy, between his kisses, “I have a solution to that problem?” 

That stops you. What? You yank him back from your neck to let him get a good look at the incredulity on your face. A cute little moan of surprise leaves him. It's almost hilarious how innocent he's trying to look while admitting that not only does he want you to fuck him silly, but he also just so happens to have a dildo with him? That has to be impossible. 

“Are you saying….?” You start, disbelieving, and he raises an eyebrow, lips curling into a tiny, smug smirk. Quickly, you decide that you don't care so much right now, and let him go to push both hands against his chest. “Turn around. Bend over.”

Zayne obeys without protest, taking his position again at the edge of the pool, resting his upper half on the warm stone. You want to devour him. Rip him to pieces and lovingly stitch him back together.

You press down on the middle of his back with one hand, and he arches for you with the gentlest touch. His head rests sideways on his arm so he can still look back at you. 

He may have acted the part of divinity and righteousness earlier, but here, for you, he is nothing but sin and temptation incarnate. Perhaps he is both. Who ever said divinity could not be tempted? Who said a righteous act never carries any sin? 

Your other hand slides down between his legs, over his plump cheeks, and presses into his body with relative ease. Water doesn't do much for lubrication, but he can take a finger. And he certainly doesn't mind, if his reaction is anything to go by. 

At times like this, Zayne really can become such a whore. And you've long since learned he likes a little pain with his pleasure. 

He rocks back into that single finger with no shame, hips undulating lazily, like a cat getting a good scratch on the bum. 

The image is so funny for a moment that you have to hide the grin on your face.

“More,” he asks after just a few moments, breathy and soft as the most curling around the two of you. You push a little deeper, and he sighs, but you know that's not what he meant, or what he wants. But as long as you're giving it, he will take it with a smile. 

“Zaynie,” you say, curling your finger inside of him. He could probably take another. 

The only response from him is a lazy hum, eyes fluttering back open. He looks so content, like this is exactly what he needed. 

“Do you remember how the host at check in told us the hot springs bestow you with a random effect?”

He nods. It has given you the ability to sense his emotions, though you can't really tell unless you focus on it. Otherwise mostly you have noticed that you simply mirror whatever he's feeling without pinpointing him as the source. It's how you know how bored and vaguely irritated he's been the past few days. It's also how you know how he aches at night. Longing and raging desire, like a dry forest meeting a spark on the ground, but with nowhere to go. Endlessly teetering on that watershed moment.  

“Why?” Zayne turns towards you a bit more, brows furrowed. 

“You never told me what effect it gave you.” You raise an eyebrow at him, and to punctuate your point, very suddenly press a second finger inside of him. It makes gasp so prettily, lips parted just so. 

Because of the water, or possibly his level of arousal, you couldn't tell at first, but now you can feel it. 

There's a unique slickness inside Zayne's body, and it's familiar because it feels like your own. The hot springs inexplicably gave your boyfriend a self lubricating asshole. And he's been keeping it to himself all week! 

The audacity of this man. Granted, it was probably for the best that he kept it to himself, given the unspoken but strictly enforced “no sex” rule, but still. What you wouldn't give to have known. 

“It acts like an aphrodisiac on you.” You say. Not a question, a statement, and you notice how now Zayne is perfectly still. 

It makes more sense now, if it's acting like an aphrodisiac on him, that the effect would likely also lower his inhibitions. Pair a needy, horny Zayne with too much free time on his hands, mixed with some poor decision making, and it's no wonder he apparently found himself sneaking out to go to a sex shop. For a dildo. That he got for himself. 

You also think it's no wonder he's so pent up like this, if he's been dosed with an aphrodisiac every day, and forbidden from doing anything about it. Not just because of something that's probably somewhere in the scroll of 195 rules, but also because it's a sort of agreement between the two of you. 

Zayne's simple preference is to save his pleasure for you. He doesn't often touch himself if he's ever alone anyway, and it easily became a part of your sex life with him. One of just a few rules he doesn't break on a regular basis. He genuinely enjoys his pleasure belonging to you alone.

That's one of the most adorable things about him, you think. He likes the restriction of having rules in place, and being able to break them with no real repercussions. He likes being scolded, and punished, and he loves it when he gets away with his little schemes. You let him, sometimes, to let him feel like he was successfully naughty. 

“And it gave you this.” You take one of his hands and pull it back between his own legs, encouraging him to push it inside. He does so, but now he's not so keen on locking eyes with you, as they slip closed. 

His finger is much bigger than yours, but it slips into the first few knuckles with ease. You watch as he pushes it in and out. The sight is among the top 3 you've seen in your life. Zayne, bent over in a gorgeous pool, decorated in chains, flushed and wet, fingering himself for you. 

If this isn't the very picture of divine beauty, you can't imagine what is. Nothing could hold a candle next to this. 

“The gods must have heard your deepest prayer, Zaynie.” You hum, “To give you what you've always wanted.” Fingers curl around his hips and you lean forward over his back. His short, sharp breaths are beautiful.

“A pretty, wet, pussy.”

That's what has him absolutely burning with shame, you don't need to see his blush to notice it in the set of his shoulders, and the way he turns to hide his face in the crook of his free arm. 

With a kiss to his back, you tug his hand free. “No more touching my things, Zaynie.” You hum, and press three of your fingers in at once. They glide in with ease, almost no resistance at all, and your suspicions are confirmed. Zayne is even wetter now. And he feels that too, because he goes almost entirely limp, like he's reached his own nirvana. Little sighs of pleasure fall freely from his lips. 

“Feels good, baby?” you ask him, and with a little whimper, he nods. 

“So good…. Mmm…” Zayne's voice slurs just a little, but it's enough information for you to know he's really far gone. “More. Please.” He please, not even directly to you, but just out into the air in general. A silly little prayer to the universe. 

“Pretty boy wants more?” You curl your fingers into his prostate. The motion is simple, a familiar one to you by now. He loves it when you finger him while you suck him off. That's actually most of the reason you ended up here in the first place. A well timed finger, and a Zayne who was suddenly much more open to the idea of experimenting anally. 

Of course, if you'd ever asked him directly, you're sure he would have agreed, but it was so much better to have him be the first one to bring it up. 

Zayne is like putty in your hands, his body twisting with the first surprising press to his prostate. He groans low in his throat and squirms when you don't let up, massaging the small spongy mass inside of him with your fingers. Quick, sharp flicks, the same way you like it on your clit. Cute, how the same motion works just as well on your boyfriend. 

“Oh… Pl…. Please…” he starts to babble, his breath heavy between his words. He's trembling. 

“Please what, sweetheart?” You ask, saccharine as you play his body like an instrument. It's a privilege to know him so well. 

“Please let me cum.” The words are all a rush, high and desperate, and you know he's telling the truth precisely because of the way he's holding himself so perfectly still. You're hitting that spot just right and he doesn't want you to stop.

“Please!” Higher, reedier. 

“No.” 

“P-please, please, please,” Now that's proper begging. His reward is a break from your relentless fingers, and the frustration is palpable in his body. You would know it even if you couldn't feel it straight from his own heart. 

The inconvenient bit of this side effect is that it's difficult to disentangle your emotions with his. The yawning need gaping in Zayne's chest, the animal desire to rut and fuck and cum spikes and fades away the same in you as it does in him when you pull your fingers free from his loose hole. 

Still, he follows your lead when you turn him around and plant yourself on his lap to kiss him, slow and indulgent.

“Not until I'm inside of you, pretty boy.”

His answering moan into your mouth is the sweetest thing you've ever heard.

There are no complaints from him, of course there aren't. Zayne just kisses you like you're his only source of air. It's almost too much to keep up with as he devours your mouth, and you don't even notice for a moment that he's lifted you and carried you from the pool until your back hits cool stone. 

Your lips part when you gasp at the sensation, and Zayne gives you enough room to get your bearings. 

“You want it bad… don't you?” You taunt him through breath you're still catching, and his grip on you tightens. 

“I do.”

Zayne is uninterested in talking apparently, and dives back in for another needy kiss. His lips and tongue are everywhere, and you have to hold onto him for dear life. It is so much. You can feel it so acutely now, the plain and raw emotions deep in his heart. 

His love for you is so deep and vast you don't think you'll ever experience the end of it. There's not even a whisper of what the end might look like. His lust for you is a burning spot spreading like wildfire, consuming everything else in its path. He needs you. To the very core of his being, he needs you. Any part of you he can have, he would be content with. To be in your presence alone is enough. 

Zayne is lost in a haze of dimly thrumming pleasure and overwhelming need while he kisses you, and he doesn't come back to himself until he finally releases your lips to properly inhale for the first time in what must be minutes. He's trembling. Fragile.

“I want to belong to you.”

You stroke his cheek with a feather touch, and as he always does, he nuzzles closer for more. “You do.”

“I want to fulfill your every desire.”

“You do.”

“I want you to be mine.”

“I am.”

The declarations are lofty, but here in the quiet space around the two of you, they are simple comforts. Facts that engender a tranquil certainty, the way one might think, “The sun will rise tomorrow.”

In this moment you can see clearly how delicate he is. Like a too thin sheet of ice over a lake.

You press one last kiss to his reddened lips, this one chaste and almost careful.

“Take me to bed.” You tell him, and his haze breaks enough for a smile to grace his expression. 

“Yes, Miss.” He agrees, and barely looks away from you as he carries you through the door back to your ensuite. Zayne sets you down like a piece of glass on the bed, and turns towards his bag. 

Finding what he's looking for doesn't take longer than a few seconds, meaning that it must have been sitting at the very top.

Now that the haze of lust has faded to a more manageable level, you can't help yourself. You have to ask, when Zayne turns around with a rather thick looking baby blue dildo in hand. 

“Okay, you have to tell me, where did that thing come from? Did you bring it from home?” 

He clears his throat, and averts his eyes as he turns back to find something else. 

“I wasn't under constant surveillance, as you know.” 

So. He snuck out. Everyone in this village is training your perfect, stoic boyfriend to act as the gentle, chaste god that blesses their homes. And here this ridiculous man is. Sneaking out to go to the local sex shop and buy a dildo. 

Surely he must have at least worn a mask when he went in. Anyone in town would have recognized him there. 

Either way, this sort of behavior from Zayne has you more than a little floored. It's so… slutty. 

You're getting distracted.

"Did you buy a harness, too?” You ask, somewhat skeptical, but at this point… apparently anything is possible. 

“No, but…” he rifles around a little more, and you watch him pull out a length of rope. “I can make one."

“You know how to tie a harness? Should I be worried?”

“No,” there's a barely concealed roll of his eyes, like that's the most ridiculous thing in the world, “I watched a tutorial online earlier.”

It keeps hitting you over and over, Zayne must have been so horny this entire trip, and with nowhere to put all of that pent up energy. It was enough to send him to look up how to tie a rope harness so that he could have a cock in his ass on this trip. Poor Zayne. You realize there was no stopping this from happening. A determined Zayne does not fail.

“Do you have photographic memory?”

“Maybe.” Cryptic asshole. The tilt to his lips is as attractive as it is infuriating. He can be so smug sometimes.

You stand from the bed as he comes closer, take the rope and the dildo from him, and set them down on the bed. Hands free, you can now reach up to kiss him, but this time he follows your pace. Slower. Deeper. More intentional. You lick into his mouth like you're trying to taste every inch of it. The roof, beneath his tongue, behind his molars. Zayne moans between you as you devour him. He's exactly where he wants to be. 

This man needs to be naked for you. Now, preferably. 

You break from his sweet lips and look down to start pulling the small, sheer, sparkly skirt free from the knot holding it secure. Because it was Zayne who put it on, it's annoyingly secure. 

“We're keeping this.” You say as it comes loose and flutters to the floor. Next you work on the similarly tied belt. Zayne's hands settle on your shoulders as he allows you to undress him without interference. 

“Keeping what?” He asks, with a hitch to his breath when you yank on his hips and the belt falls to the ground. 

“This outfit. You look so pretty in this. Like a prized concubine, all dressed up for your master.” You admire the tight fit of the little shorts for another perfect second, and then tug them down his hips the rest of the way, finally freeing his perfect cock. It stands happily at attention for you, even bobbing from nothing more than your gaze. 

Your eyes follow the trail of your hands as you run them up his torso, stopping to pluck at the chains adorning him. Zayne's breathing is shallow. 

“Am I your concubine?” He asks, voice small. Silly man.

You smile at him like you're seeing your favorite thing in the world, and hold his face in both your hands. His hazel eyes are just this side of wide as you stroke his cheekbones with your thumbs. You can feel the tremulous anxiety within him. He is so loved. You need him to know that, every moment of every day. He is so dearly loved.

“You're my most cherished one. You spend your days sitting pretty at my feet. I wash you with the most fragrant soaps, I dress you in the most luxurious fabrics, I decorate you with the most expensive jewels.”

“And you feed me the sweetest cakes.”

“From a pure and holy god to a spoiled courtesan.”

“If it means I am yours, then your whore is what I choose to be.” Despite the absurdity of the statement, Zayne says it with no irony. He would go so far as to utterly debase himself for you. It is an arousing thought, to know what lengths he would go to just to kiss the soles of your feet. Almost equally, though, it makes your heart clench. Foolish, hopeless Zayne… you worry sometimes, what would become of him if he lost you. 

Joy blankets him like a gentle cloud these days, in a way it never has before. Anyone who has even a passing acquaintance with Zayne can see it, they tell you so often. You can see it too. Sometimes he's like an entirely different man, but you know that's unfair. He is not different, he is merely free now to show all the parts of himself he's kept so hidden. 

“Be my whore tonight, then.” You tell him, taking his jaw and tilting his head a little closer. “On your knees.”

He shivers at the blunt command and obeys without another word, dropping to his knees, nude save for the jewelry on his body. You think about letting him remove it for convenience, but in the end, the desire to see him decorated like this for you wins out. 

Zayne looks up at you, his expression serene as his hands find home on the tops of your thighs, rubbing idly into the skin. You feel so powerful, above him like this, looking down on your most treasured possession. 

He watches nearly without blinking as you undo the clasps at the top of your dress, loosening it until it's barely hanging onto your shoulders. 

“Pull it off.” You tell him, and he takes the bottom in a hand, and with almost no force, tugs it down and over your breasts. The fabric pools on the floor by your feet. Zayne doesn't need to be told what to do next, you step out of the dress, and he picks it up with careful hands, folding it over and placing it neatly on a chair nearby. 

When his body turns back to you, only then does he allow himself his fill of admiring you. The effervescent warmth in his chest at the sight of you like this is so whole and pure, it surely doesn't belong in this moment.

“Show me how surgeons tie knots, Zaynie.” You tell him, and hand him the length of rope and the dildo. To no one's surprise, Zayne is more than adept as he builds the knots around your hips, uses his fingers to test tension, fits the dildo into a space just at the mound of your pelvis, and pulls taut until it's unmoving and secure. You're impressed, but also a little put out by the sheer perfection of this man. He probably does have a photographic memory. 

“Does it feel alright?” Zayne looks up at you once he's done, resting comfortably on his haunches, hands idly stroking at your legs again  The pose makes him look so cute you want to squeeze him.

You nod, a little distracted as you reach down to pet his hair. Soft, and silky, but still damp from the steam. It makes it a little bouncier, makes him look younger. It's so cute. Even cuter to see his pleased, content expression. 

He really is so much like a cat. Maybe one day you can get him to dress like one for you. 

A few more pets to his head and then you cup your hand around the back of it, pulling him closer to your pelvis. 

"I know you're already wet, sweetheart, but who's the one who tells me that more lubrication is never a bad thing?” You raise an eyebrow, and he smiles before leaning in to press a chaste kiss to the tip of the silicone. 

“So you do listen to me.” Zayne muses, and you watch his eyes flutter closed as he wraps his lips around the blue toy. It's mesmerizing.

“I always listen to you.” You huff, and for good measure, pull him further down into your cock until he lets out a tiny choking sound and momentarily sits back to regain his breath. 

His eyes glimmer with mischief. “Last week, I recall–” Zayne begins, but you don't give him a chance to finish, yanking hard enough on his hair that he cries out, and you lean down, closer to him. Threatening. 

“Last I checked, good boys don't talk with their mouths full.” 

What a brat!

Regardless, it has the intended effect, and Zayne's snark melts away into an indulgent moan. He loves it when you pull on his hair. You use your grip to get his mouth back on your cock, and guide his head up and down until he takes over the motion himself.

When he's not sassing you, he might as well be perfect. Something manufactured to bring all your fantasies to life. And there is nothing better than watching his head bob between your legs, whether it's the pleasure of watching him choke down your cock, or his tongue deep inside you.

As pretty as he is on his knees, moaning around your cock, you want to see him crumble. And he's waited for you long enough. Was brave enough to tell you exactly what he wanted.

"On the bed, sweet boy.” There's a pop as you tug him off, and blearily, Zayne looks up to you for further guidance, so pliant all of a sudden. It takes a second for your command to register, but then he's slinking on top of the sheets and settling down for you. He rests his head on his elbows, and stays on his knees, ass in the air just for you. 

It's obscene, it's debauched and dirty, but it also may be the closest thing to religious you've ever felt. If there were a church of Zayne, you'd surely be the pope. 

Then you see it. Barely glistening in the light. There's a line of slick dripping from between his legs, down to his compact balls. Zayne is wet for you. He's leaking for you. 

You can't help it. He's plenty stretched by now, but you push a few fingers inside of him anyway, moaning at the warm, wet feeling of him, more distinct out of the water. 

You knew this was what the hot spring did to you.” It's not a question. He whimpers. Doesn't say anything. 

A smack to his ass, making him jolt and yelp. 

“You knew.”

Another smack. 

“Yes!” His toes are curling, and his body tense in preparation of another slap. “I knew.”

His reward is you running your silicone cock against him, between his cheeks from his balls back up to his now loose hole.

“You were walking around all day, rehearsing for this sacred ceremony while you leaked in your pants?” 

Another silence, aside from a soft, reluctant whine. You pull back and squeeze his balls, just enough to be on this side of painful. 

“Yes,” he chokes out, and you let go, reaching into him to gather his slick on your fingers to stroke the dildo with. 

“Were you wet during the ceremony?” The mere thought of it is sacreligious, but that really only makes it hotter. Zayne thinks so too, if his full body shudder is anything to go by. 

“Yes,” he admits, ashamed. 

That thought makes you feral. The idea of a being of purity, innocence, chastity would have such a naughty secret beneath his elegant robes. That is one of the things you love most about him, isn't it? That no one would ever know what you do about him. How silly and bratty and bashful and slutty he is. How he presents himself to you, how he kneels for you, worships you, how he is so completely owned by you. 

You get on the bed behind him and waste no more fanfare. Both palms pull apart his cheeks, and you get one more perfect look at his oozing hole before you push inside of him in one long, slow stroke. 

Zayne cries out at the sudden fullness, but the moment his body seems to register it, he goes almost entirely limp, sagging down like it's some immense relief to be stuffed to the brim. Your intention is to stop and let him adjust for a bit, but Zayne has no such reservations. Almost immediately he starts to move on his own, rocking his hips against yours like he wants to see if there's more to fit inside. 

“That's it,” you murmur as you pet his flank, “take it. You can take it. Good boy.”

A shudder goes up his spine, and his next moan is high pitched and more desperate. 

It's beautiful, watching this perfect, untouchable man act so wantonly for you. It's just as you thought it would be, the moment you're inside of him, all of his shame disappears. He fucks himself back onto your cock because he wants it so badly, because it feels so good, and he doesn't care about anything beyond that in this moment. Not how he looks, how someone might perceive him at this moment. He doesn't care anymore. 

You stop observing and start fucking back into him with smooth, long strokes. You're trying to go easy on him at first, but Zayne doesn't seem to care much for that right now. 

“Harder.” He begs through gritted teeth, whimpering every time you push back in. You tighten your grip on his hips and thrust harder. That gorgeous spine dips into a steep arch.

“You love this, don't you?” You ask him, your voice low and almost feral. It's something you're only seeing just now, and you don't know how you ever missed it. “You love feeling so full.”

“Yes,” he gasps out as you pound your hips into his ass, watching the taut flesh jiggle with each slap against him. Your weight is on your hands, holding him down by his lower back. The position effectively keeps him pinned as much as you can while using his own body to stabilize yourself as you fuck into him with punishing thrusts. 

“Tell me.” You demand, and through his punched out gasps and moans he finds the presence of mind to look back at you.

The sight is devastating. Hair bouncing over one eye, jaw slack, gaze unable to properly focus. The expression on his face is one of pure, mindless bliss. It makes you tighten your jaw and push into him harder. Your reward is the cutest whine you think he's ever made. 

“I love it when you fuck me.” He breathes out, slurring, his very being raw and exposed for you at this moment. Honestly is no longer fighting with his own shame. “It feels so good.” A short cry, and he tenses up, the muscles in his back rippling. It sounds almost like a sob, and his voice is thick next time he speaks, “So good, please… please… harder.”

Harder?

You're not sure how much harder you can go at him, the bed is already creaking suspiciously, and you're sure you must be bruising both of your pelvises with the force of it. 

Well..there are other ways you can make it harder for him. 

You reach forward and grab the back of his hair, yanking him up until he's on his knees, bracketing your lap, still impaled on your cock. It's amazing how he always chooses to simply obey your demands, no matter how ridiculous they may be.

All movement ceases, and Zayne whines with frustration.

“Greedy boy.” You chastise him.

“Very greedy.” Zayne agrees in that breathless voice of his, limbs still trembling with need.

“Do you want to cum?” 

"Yes,” it's quick and desperate, taking the rest of his breath from him. “Please let me cum, Miss. I want to cum.” 

You press your lips to his back, roll your hips up into him once, and breathe in the sweaty musk on his body. 

“Go on then, my pretty boy. Take it.” You murmur with another final kiss, and lean back onto your hands to watch him.

Usually, your preference is always to watch his face when he comes, your Zayne makes the prettiest faces when he falls apart. But there's still an appreciation of this view; the muscles of his back flexing, the bounce of his pert ass as you actually get to see it swallow your cock like it's nothing when Zayne starts rolling his hips again. 

Maybe it's not as good as if he was facing you, but you're not complaining. With a small hum, you reach out with your hand to help Zayne along, intending to stroke his cock while he rides your lap. 

Except the moment you touch him, Zayne lets out a choked, guttural sound. Something animalistic, barely human, which is how you know it hits him hard. 

Above you, he goes totally still, every muscle locked in place for the briefest second, and then he's shuddering apart. Thighs quivering on either side of you,  abdomen clenching down, and his soft whines so helpless. They come in time with each twitch of his cock against your knuckles, and you feel some of his salty cum land on your fingers, barely wrapped around him. His hips move in aborted little jerks, maybe grinding the dildo against his prostate, if you had to guess.

“Ah….” He falls forward onto his hands, and you think his arms might be shaking. Tiny whispers leave his lips, but it isn't until you pull out of him, tug the makeshift harness free, and move closer that you can hear what he's saying. Little ‘thank you’ ‘s breathed into the air like a secret. 

Once he realizes you're next to him, you're almost tackled onto the bed. Not really, but he is uncoordinated right now, and much bigger than you, so it isn't hard for him to knock out your breath just by laying on you. 

There isn't even time for you to recover from being smothered by a giant snowman before he's showering you in butterfly kisses. All over you, wherever his lips can reach. 

You recognize the unbearably full emotion he has in his chest with amusement. 

He's feeling cuteness aggression towards you right now. 

Adorable. 

“Please,” Zayne starts to beg against your skin as his lips memorize the exact slope of your nose, “Use me…” He hasn't quite caught his breath yet, “Let me make you feel good too. Let me try.”

You pet his hair and hold him close. Perfect boy. 

“My good boy.” Your voice is tender in his ear, and it makes him shudder. “Lay on your back for me.”

You'd never dream of denying him his greatest pleasure, and his honesty today deserves a worthy reward. 

It doesn't take more than a few seconds for your positions to switch, Zayne eager enough that apparently he doesn't need any time to recover from his intense orgasm. You straddle him and crawl up his body to hover right over his mouth, knees on either side of his head. 

The angle for you is better if you're facing away from him, but you prefer to see his pussy drunk gaze. The image more than makes up for the slightly worse angle for your clit. 

“This is where you belong, isn't it?” You ask softly, running your fingers through his already hopelessly messy hair. 

Flushed, hazy, pathetic, and perfect, Zayne nods, his hands tight around your backside, anchoring you to him. Once he has a taste, it's difficult to get him to let go. 

Your hum is pleased. Indulgent. “Good boy…” you murmur, about to sink down onto his face when there's a knock at the door. The two of you freeze instantly, and his eyes sharpen in an instant. 

The pure irritation he feels is so strong it shocks you into a single, uncontrolled snort. He's more upset about not getting to eat your out than you are about it.

“Emissary!” 

Of course it's Shubai. Who else would it be? For a kid who seems to be trying really hard to keep the cryptic title for Zayne a secret, he sure does suck at it. 

Zayne groans below you, rolling his face into the side of your thigh. You're still hovering right above him. A cruel torment now rather than a reward.

 He nuzzles into your leg more as his eyes stay on yours. A few gentle kisses, his hands still holding you securely to him, and he sighs. 

“I'll make it up to you.” He whispers, quiet enough that Shubai shouldn't be able to hear. “You can do whatever you want to me.” 

Your smile brightens in a way that sends flickers of nervousness through him immediately. 

“Will you be my pet kitty for a day?”