Chapter Text
Wriothesley wakes up to his dick wet.
Lyney is soaking it with his cunt, grinding, getting every inch inside. He’s wearing one of Wriothesley’s shirts, and it drapes past his lap where it pools at the latter’s navel. With his hands on his chest, he bounces on it, punching out moans and gasps.
Wriothesley doesn’t open his eyes. He lets Lyney have fun, living in his indulgent fantasy of pleasuring himself with his dick unbeknownst to him. However, he can’t help but groan because god, Lyney feels so fucking good.
Movements falter. “Mm, Wrio, I know you’re awake…”
A smile dawns on his face. “Caught me.” Wriothesley grumbles. He brings his hands up to Lyney’s hips and— damn, need more of this… gonna need more of this right now.
They go at it like rabbits. The morning passed into noon until a little later in the afternoon. Lyney makes a mess, nearly drained if not Wriothesley constantly cumming inside of him like it’s his life source. Over and over. Mouth, ass, and pussy.
Lyney likes to make a show of it. He’s, deep down, a performer, Wriothesley’s personal porn star. He likes using a lot of lube as well as squirting; a talent that he unlocked once he started sleeping with Wriothesley, and it is a talent that he is never tired of. Just like Lyney, Wriothesley also likes a good mess, especially with Lyney lying in the puddle of sheets and slick. They could open the windows, and he’s sure that the next door neighbors could smell the sex emanating from their house. If not the smell, then the sounds.
Their photo albums, albums upon albums, sorted by the months and stored on a laptop, are all filled with lewd images of cum and lube seeping out of Lyney’s pussy, of countless videos of them fucking rough and hard until Lyney’s legs are shaking and his face is nodding off like some drug addict. All angles too. February is their most filled album, totalling to at least eighty pieces of media.
The longer they fuck, the more Lyney loses himself. He likes it when Wriothesley pounds into his sore pussy. When it bleeds, Lyney doesn’t stop. It’ll mix with his slick, Wriothesley’s cum, with the lube, into some pink goo. It’s pretty, Lyney said once. He agreed.
They only stop because Wriothesley has office hours for his students, and with midterms coming around, he knows it is gonna be a packed two hours.
Lyney pouts. “Why can’t you cancel it? Cancel it for me?”
“It’s midterm season.”
“But then it’s gonna be finals, and then everyone will be bothering you.” Lyney whimpers, curling up. He’s on the brink of tears.
“Sh… it’s okay.” Wriothesley sits back down on the bed to comfort Lyney, running his hands through his wet, soiled hair. “You know how to occupy yourself.”
Lyney just shakes his head and wraps himself around Wriothesley. “It was getting good too. Please? One more?” He leans in, their lips touching.
“I know you’re just trying to trick me, you minx.” He goes to pinch Lyney’s cheek. “After I’m done with office hours. If you want, you can help me put makeup around my neck. I’ll let you sit on my lap.”
That only soothes Lyney by a slight margin, but it’s enough to make that sad pout go away.
It all started a few years back. Lyney was a sophomore in college, although technically, he was a junior with all the credits he had. He loved school because of the independence, but also the fact that he loved learning. He had dreams of becoming a professor himself, where he’ll get to work on projects and research, support and work with passionate students, usher them to change the world for the better, the such.
First, that required making professional connections, and his history professor, Wriothesley, just seemed right.
He was kind to everyone, well respected by faculties from multiple departments, and had talked about his own students becoming lecturers who were on their way to become professors. He also had a blunt sense of humor, although a little cocky, making students read his research occasionally for coursework. Whatever, because Lyney would read it and think about how much he wanted to be like Professor Wriothesley. To have that level of authority in both person and in writing, and hell, Wriothesley was just smart.
Lyney, like any sensible student thinking of post-graduate work, went to him.
They hit it off. Every week, Lyney would go to his office hours and hog up all the time. Eventually, it became a little too disruptive to other students, and Wriothesley had offered to take Lyney out so that they could have more time to themselves.
They met up at a cafe bar. It’s in the name, but worth mentioning: it was a cafe by day, but bar at night. Wriothesley had said that he was only available after seven, which was when the cafe stopped serving coffee and started serving alcoholic beverages.
Wriothesley had offered Lyney a sip of his drink. At the time, Lyney was just below the drinking age; he was twenty. At first, he resisted, saying how inappropriate it would be for him to share a straw with his professor of all people, and that if he was caught, he could be charged with underage drinking— and! And, Wriothesley would get in trouble too, both professionally and legally, just think about the liability issues!
Wriothesley smirked. “I like how you structure your argument. Clean cut point a, b, and c. But really, I insist. It’s just a sip.”
Lyney bit his lips. He stared at that straw, glistening with drink and saliva. Beneath the table, his fists were balled up on his lap. What should he do?
“What are you, a kid?” Wriothesley rolled his eyes and slid the drink back towards himself.
Lyney dropped his jaw and said in an exaggerated tone (although, in retrospect, not entirely exaggerated— he was already insecure about the fact that he looked like a wimpish, naive undergraduate college student, especially in front of his professor), “Rude! I’m doing this out of your sake, by the way.”
“Right.”
But Lyney was always one for surprises. Here, it wasn’t necessarily intentional, because it wasn’t like he was going to pull a card out from his professor’s ear, but really, it was more out of spite. Impulsive rather than out of calculated misguidance. “... Okay, you know what, fine. Just one sip.”
Wriothesley’s eyes widened; Lyney feasted on the minute whiplash he managed to inflict. Although, his expression tapered into a smirk. “You sure?”
“Yeah.”
Wriothesley made a small humming sound before he slid it across the table, the marble coaster making a grinding sound against the lacquered wooden table.
Lyney rubbed his sweaty palms over his jeans before leaning down. He shouldn’t have, but the entire time, he made eye contact with Wriothesley, not aware of how lewd the sight was, of his lips wrapping around the straw. When his lips parted, his tongue peeked out.
The pause between them was a bit longer than necessary, but eventually, Wriothesley asked, “So? How was it?”
“It’s good. Kinda sweet. I didn’t take you for someone with a sweet tooth.”
Wriothesley shrugged. “Yeah, yeah… hey, if you want to drink more, feel free to.”
“Really?”
“Of course.” Wriothesley gestured with a sweeping motion, completely yielding the drink to Lyney.
Occasionally, Lyney would mindlessly take sips mid conversation. The bartender didn’t seem to care. Kind of careless, but this was a college town, they’re probably used to it. Soon, he felt himself getting tipsy. He would speak and laugh a little louder than usual. When he found himself trailing off the entire reason why they’re here to talk, he would say, “Okay, we need to get back on track—uh,” then, he would burst out laughing.
He was making such a fool of himself in front of Professor Wriothesley. The cup was now a sliver of liquid, the drink mixing with the melting ice. He felt his bladder swelling.
“Hey, Professor, sorry, I need to go to the bathroom, do you know where it is?”
“Yeah, no problem. Here, let me show you the way, come with me.”
There were two family bathrooms; perhaps bathroom stalls would’ve been more fitting, but Lyney appreciated the extra privacy. The bathroom was dark, from ceiling to wall to floor, with an orange light hanging over the mirror. It was rather dim.
He didn’t expect Wriothesley to slip inside with him.
“Oh, uh, could you wait outside?” Lyney asked, conscious of Wriothesley seeing his private parts. “Or at least turn around?”
The door locked.
Lyney added, a little louder this time, “Did you also need to… pee?”
“Nah, I’m good.” Wriothesley said. He sauntered over to Lyney, who started backing away.
“Is something wrong?” Lyney whispered. His back hit the wall. Even against the wall, he felt the room tilt.
“Not at all.” Wriothesley had wrapped his hands around Lyney’s waist. “Small, aren’t you?”
Lyney scoffed, “Yeah, you’re right— uh, sorry, Professor, could I have some privacy? I’ll join you outside.” Arms hugged to his chest, he flicked a finger towards the door.
Instead, Wriothesley’s grip tightened. Hot breath fanned at Lyney’s right ear. The smell of Wriothesley’s cologne festered with the tight space of air they shared, choking the latter.
He huffed. Lyney glanced at the door, wondering how many steps it would take to bolt out of there. He also studied the logistics of slipping out of Wriothesley’s grasp; if he could wiggle out or knee Wriothesley in the crotch.
A kiss was pressed against Lyney’s neck, and out from his own mouth came a sound that nearly mimicked a moan, terrifying himself.
“Professor, get off, please.”
Wriothesley brought his lips to Lyney’s ear. “Don’t you want this?” He added with a kiss upon his lobe, the screech of lips and teeth sucked together magnified by its proximity. Lyney flinched away.
“I’d rather had my first time be special—”
“But isn’t this special?” Wriothesley muttered, a tinge of an uncharacteristic whimper in his deep voice. He snuck his icy cold hand under Lyney’s shirt, and it crawled up, sweeping past his top scars. “You get to do it with me.”
A shiver out of disgust and frigidity. Lyney looked to the side, watching their figures together in the mirror. His mind couldn’t fathom such a sight, a pairing like them, being possible. It isn’t. It shouldn’t. Even their bodies seem to reject each other in how incongruent their heights and builds are, and yet, Wriothesley continued to jam them together.
Again, all Lyney wanted out of his first time was for it to be special. It didn’t have to be spectacular and done with the finesse found in the movies. It didn’t even need to be with the person he would marry for the rest of his life— it just needed to be someone he trusted. And, he did trust Wriothesley, but not like this.
That night, Wriothesley had raped him in the cafe bar’s bathroom. He had crudely prepared Lyney, stuffing his fingers in haste and using the water from the sink as lube, before shoving his dick inside. He was forced to stare at the reflection. He would close his eyes but occasionally they would peel open into a slit, and watch how Wriothesley kept a hand on his mouth as he pulled him onto his dick repeatedly. It had hurt so much that he squirmed around and begged for Wriothesley to stop even if he was muffled.
When Wriothesley came, he watched it drip out and onto the black tile floors. Red swirled in the white. He remembered feeling the slimy texture that trickled down. Even if that was clearly Wriothesley's cum, Lyney also knew that that red was his blood, and mixed in the white was likely the invisible slick of his own discharge. He was wet.
Wriothesley had held him in his arms and kissed his neck, down to his shoulder, and when they left the bathroom, Lyney smelled like Wriothesley in every sense. Later, Wriothesley made conversation with Lyney as they walked back to the latter’s place.
The night was irresistibly and unfortunately beautiful, with a breeze that was cool enough for goosebumps to appear on his arms, but not enough to warrant a jacket. His eyes kept wandering back up to the stars.
Wriothesley opened up about his childhood. Lyney didn’t know where it came from, but the professor mentioned how he used to be in the foster care system. In trying to keep the casual atmosphere and dismiss his nerves, he went along with it because it was so much easier to say “me too” than to say nothing. Inadvertently, he exposed another layer of his life that he didn’t want the professor to be aware of, which was his own experience in foster care. There was a muted joy in this commonality that Lyney would’ve embraced had he been privy to this information before… that.
After Wriothesley dropped him off, he ran into his room and cried all night.
He beat his face until his hands were as red as his face, until his pillows were sodden with tears, until his voice hurt, until he passed out in his own misery. Even alone, he kept his legs closed; merely parting his legs had triggered memories of the bathroom. He rubbed his legs together as if to merge them. Despite knowing how irrational it was, it frustrated him into hyperventilation. His nails clawed down his face. The sludge inside of him— what Wriothesley had put inside him, was stuck, even as he coughed and sputtered out. He saw it, he saw it on the floor, mixed in his blood! Why did he still feel it?!
The next morning, he had snailed out of his room and found a slip that had been shucked through the bottom of his front door. A noise complaint.
He should’ve gone to the admin and told them what had happened. Wriothesley was a tenured professor but maybe they would’ve still taken Lyney’s request seriously, except he didn’t say anything.
Why didn’t he say anything? Maybe because back then, that dream of becoming a professor still shimmered in his mind, and he was willing to do whatever it took to make the necessary professional connections.
All the other professors he had talked to, they just weren’t as easy to talk to as Wriothesley, and whenever he had talked about Professor Wriothesley recommending him for grad school, they would light up and start rambling about their colleague. Whatever they mentioned, from his credentials to his amiable personality, all of it became reasons for Lyney to stay despite his personal feelings. Wriothesley was an absolute necessity in Lyney’s professional arsenal.
From that day in the bathroom, Lyney tried to take on a distanced approach to Wriothesley’s insistence.
The first time they met after that incident in the bathroom was when Lyney went to Wednesday’s class; their classes were Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and he had skipped Monday because he was afraid. That brief break had disillusioned him into thinking he would be fine on Wednesday, but he was wrong.
Usually, he sat at the front of the class, but that day, he sat further away. Not too far that it would rouse suspicion, but just far enough to where he would feel safe. After class, there were usually students lined up to talk to the professor. They would ask questions or simply chat with him. Lyney used to do that. Hell, he would run up to Wriothesley just so he wouldn’t have to wait in line.
That day though, Wriothesley had dismissed all the students under the pretense that he had a meeting within five minutes of class ending, and thus, could not entertain anyone.
As he tried to run out, Wriothesley had called out Lyney’s name. Sludge spiked.
A few students looked back, although their desire to get lunch trumped their curiosity at the professor’s odd exception. Lyney shuffled towards the front of the class.
Wriothesley pushed his hip out, resting a fist on it. He asked, “Hey, you okay?”
What a loaded question. There were multiple avenues that he could take. He could say, no, what he had done the other night was fucking vile. Maybe he could say, no, still, but chalk it up to a random reason that could not be attributed to that night. Or, he could just say yes so that this conversation will just be a small exchange.
“What makes you think I’m not?”
“Well, you didn’t show up for class on Monday, and today you didn’t sit in the front as you usually do.”
“I was sick, and I felt like changing things up.”
Wriothesley sighed. Whether it was because he was peeved with Lyney’s terrible lie or felt guilt for what had happened, he wasn’t sure, but then the professor had offered, “Well, there is going to be a guest lecture tomorrow, and I think it would help you a lot. There will be several speakers, and I think one of them is working on a research topic that you expressed interest in. I have to RSVP by today at five though. So, do you wanna join?”
“Tomorrow, at what time?”
“It’s around seven. Surely you don’t have any classes at that time?”
A few beats of pensive silence passed. Lyney nibbled on his lips, but then the imagery of him sipping on Wriothesley’s straw flashed across his mind which had compelled him to stop.
Maybe if he met with that researcher, he could find a different mentor and not rely on Wriothesley anymore. He said yes.
The conference went great, and Lyney was able to get contact information from the guest speakers and other people in the audience. He was reminded of the fact that he really was a nerd. Meeting scholars with degrees from the top universities with blazing passion was like watching a movie star in action.
While talking to one of the panelists, they stopped and looked behind Lyney. “This is your student?”
Lyney turned around and saw Wriothesley standing behind him. How long had he been standing there?
“Yeah. He’s charming, isn’t he?” Lyney felt a hand slap his shoulder and inch down to squeeze his arm.
“Yes, I can tell he’ll do great things.” The researcher grinned, giving Lyney a look that emitted pride. He smiled back with aching cheeks.
After the conference, Wriothesley had lured Lyney to his own house. Well, maybe not lured. Lyney knew what Wriothesley was doing when he offered to drive, and it was so infuriating because he offered it so casually. There wasn’t a wink or knowing smile that one does when they say an inside joke, and yet they both knew the implication.
Despite knowing this, Lyney still said yes. Not only did he not want to walk in the dark, but he was also aware how a simple rejection such as this could fuck him over. He received a stellar grade on his previous essay over the weekend, and even if it was considered good, he knew part of the grade couldn't be chalked up to just his academic merits.
When they were in the car, Lyney mentioned that Wriothesley had missed the turn that would go to his street, but he only replied, “Don’t worry about it.”
Wriothesley’s house was on the outskirts of town. The distance between his and Wriothesley’s was wider than the distance between his and the college campus, and additionally, the professor’s house was located on a hill. Any plans to walk home went down the gutter.
The moment the door closed, Wriothesley was all over him. Fear overtook him. Lyney pushed him away, but Wriothesley had fought back every resistance he posed. After a scuffle that had pinned Lyney to the wall, he was forced to accept the inevitability. He went along with it. This was purely transactional, that’s all.
He showed his first signs of reciprocation, although it was not full-hearted. His limbs wrapped around Wriothesley awkwardly such as how someone hugs a distant relative— arms around, although wary of pressing together. No longer was he being shoved around, but now was being held with a gentleness that he hadn’t ever known.
Their lips went at separate rhythms, with Wriothesley’s being desperate and intense, while Lyney took small sips of the professor’s lips, tasting coffee. Instinctively he would purse his lips to prevent the already-lewd kiss from escalating.
He led him into the bedroom and started undressing. Lyney’s fingers hovered over the buttons of his shirt, but Wriothesley, after stripping off his pants, pushed Lyney onto the bed and ripped his clothes off of him. Upon his naked skin, he made a trail of kisses from Lyney’s collarbones to his navel.
Then, when he took his pants off, he latched his mouth over Lyney’s clothed pussy. The act had made Lyney close his legs, unintentionally clamping Wriothesley between.
Wriothesley ate him out. He squirmed, muttering that it was disgusting, but the professor muttered, “Don’t be shy. You’re perfect.”
Wriothesley tugged Lyney’s panties down with his teeth. Seeing his professor be so… tantalizing, or attempting to be, admittedly made Lyney watch in disgusted wonder. Where did he learn this? During his own college years? That seemed so far away. He was at least in his late thirties, if not early forties.
He thought about it a little more; about Wriothesley’s college years. What he looked like. If, by shaving his face, Lyney would be looking at a Wriothesley around his age and see just another awkward student trying to be seductive as they woo their class crush.
“A— Ah… ” Lyney felt his cheeks go red; the cold air hitting his cunt made him hyper-aware of how wet he was.
He sucked on Lyney’s clit with a tight suction, and his tongue worked wonders as it glided across his cunt, slipping inside his pussy occasionally and making him jump.
It was far more comfortable than a public bathroom. The scent of Wriothesley’s sheets was that of a dusky, tranquilizing eucalyptus. He held onto the sheets for dear life and tossed his head around. He arched his back, pulling his hips away and digging himself into the soft mattress only for Wriothesley to chase his body with his mouth. The privacy of it all contributed to his abnormal and shameful ease.
At one point, Wriothesley hummed, sending shivers all over Lyney’s body. He whimpered, which then dropped into an open-mouthed moan when Wriothesley’s muffled chuckle ripped another wave. Whatever joy Wriothesley felt at Lyney’s demise, it urged him to suck harder, and oh god, Lyney couldn’t keep up. His chest pattered and skipped. The professor's smirk was stamped upon his cunt.
An unfamiliar feeling washed over him, an orgasm different from the ones he would get when he was masturbating by himself. It erupted inside of him, and in a desperate attempt to resist the pleasure while simultaneously sinking into it, he let out loud cries and squirmed, unwittingly grinding into Wriothesley’s mouth and chasing the last remnants of his climax. He lost his mind.
He gripped Wriothesley’s hair with white knuckles and tugged, tugged all he could just to make him feel pain. However, all that did was make him groan and dig his nose deeper into his pubic bone and suck Lyney into overstimulation. Despite not receiving any stimulation, he could hear Wriothesley groan in pleasure as if he had also came. The groan rippled his already sensitive pussy, kicking another spasm out of him.
Lyney bit down his lip to prevent any other form of noises that could insinuate that he was deriving pleasure out of this, but he couldn’t prevent the hard-wired twitches that shook his core in the aftermath.
Wriothesley then kissed him, and he tasted that sludge that was inexplicably his. He winced and pulled away. Gross.
Soaked with Wriothesley’s spit and his own discharge, Wriothesley slid inside. He fucked harder this time, not sparing Lyney’s cervix. He shrieked and cried, saying how much it hurt, every inch burning inside. Even as he looked up at Wriothesley to ask him to stop or slow down, the professor appeared distant, all too busy relishing in the honey slick warmth of Lyney’s pussy.
“Like that? Doesn’t it feel good?” Wriothesley asked, his words punched out by his thrusts.
Wriothesley then grabbed him by the jaw when he didn’t give an instant verbal answer— how that terrified him so much. He repeated, and Lyney, in a soft voice that bordered on shrill, said, “y-yes—”
Wriothesley grinned— and it was like the smile he put on whenever a student got an answer right.
That sliver of validation dissipated once Wriothesley slammed his hips in a way that would push Lyney’s spine into an uncomfortably painful position.
The wet sound of his pussy being brutally smashed was accompanied by their skins repeatedly slapping together. All the while, Wriothesley would throw his head back, groaning and muttering how good Lyney felt, how tight he was.
When Wriothesley did cum, he pulled out and came all over Lyney’s stomach, going as far to reach his chin. He sat there awkwardly as he watched Wriothesley jerk himself off and let thick streams of cum coat his body.
After they finished, they took a shower together. Wriothesley had dragged him into the bathroom and cleaned him up. Lyney could barely stand. His pussy felt like it was torn apart, ripped in half. As he came down, he cried, and he cried a lot, taking in short, twitchy breaths and hiding his face into his hands.
Wriothesley, ignorant of Lyney’s distress, slid him into his clothes like some doll. He wore an oversized shirt with boxers that sagged around his hips. Lyney had to pin it with the bobby pin that he usually used to hold his braid back.
“C’mon, it’s big enough for both of us.” Wriothesley had opened up the blanket, revealing an empty spot that craved to be filled.
Lyney crossed his arms over his stomach, the oversized shirt wrinkling and creating a cinching effect upon his figure. He sniffled, “I’d rather go home. I have classes in the morning…”
And Wriothesley’s class, but that was left unsaid.
“It’s too late to drive you back.”
“Okay, then I’ll just sleep on the couch.”
Wriothesley didn’t even respond, he just glared at Lyney as if saying, yeah right, stop making excuses. It was that very flippant yet rude attitude that made him feel as though whatever he said or did would not register.
Lyney sighed in defeat. He pressed his knee into the mattress, and not even sparing a second, Wriothesley wrapped his huge arms around him and dragged him in.
It was a cold night. Lyney loathed how nice it was to snuggle beneath a soft, fluffy duvet. Far more comfortable than his shitty mattress with near threadbare sheets.
He went on his phone, as one usually does in the middle of the night. He lowers the brightness and scrolls through short-form videos, distracting himself from the arms around him, one wrapped around his waist while the other resting between the crook of Lyney’s neck and shoulder.
Lyney freezed when he felt Wriothesley nuzzle his face into the back of his neck. Soft, even snores brushed his skin.
Consequently, he never told his friends about it. Oh please, all the potential outcomes of what would happen if he did tell would overwhelm him to the point of paralyzation. How could he pretend everything was alright and talk about plans and parties and classes without thinking about that malignant tumor at his side?
And so, he slept with Wriothesley more. He compartmentalized. He would let Wriothesley have his way with him. The physical exertion that came from sex gave him an alternative to festering up complaints and rants that would only leave him frustrated afterwards.
Like, endless assignments. Essays. Extracurriculars. Work. Keeping track with the various academic scholars he had met in networking events. Family matters, which shouldn’t bother him considering he was on his own in college, but it would still pester him. There was also the fact that his friends began to piss him off— yes, on top of everything, even if he wasn’t going to tell them about this odd development between him and his professor, he tried to keep that sliver of his normal life intact.
Nothing was the same anymore. Lyney could feel his work decline in quality and his connection with his friends deteriorate, and hell, it annoyed him by how they didn’t even notice or care about Lyney’s new demeanor. All they would do is comment on it as a joke as opposed to a concern.
Did no one care about Lyney? Listlessly, he sat in bed and thought about all the times he had bent over backwards for others. That was why Father had put so much faith in him, and yes, she had taught him discipline, the type that only stone-cold, pragmatic and successful individuals could endure. Should he thank Wriothesley for exposing him for the person he really was? A filthy pile of sludge? Someone who could never ever meet Father’s expectations?
Exhausted, he laughed at himself. He wondered if he killed himself, would anyone notice? Hypothetically, it would only take a month for them to get over it anyways. It could be longer, but it wouldn’t be anything that they couldn’t recover from.
A punishment fit for his crime of being a fraud was suspended above him at every waking moment, and at some point, Lyney couldn’t keep blaming Wriothesley. After all the sex, there was an abnormal relief from it all. Like, the guillotine brushed against his neck, not slicing, but giving him enough pain that it felt right.
He kept going along with Wriothesley’s invitations for their personal “office hours”, which would initially start as normal, but would escalate. Lyney wouldn’t stop or start it, he would just let it happen and acted like a starfish in bed.
But then there was that one time…
That day, he was especially mad at his friends. Charlotte had made a joke, and by itself, it was quite harmless; she had sulked and muttered, pretending to be Lyney, and all their friends had laughed. He also laughed along and even played it off. Under usual circumstances, it wouldn’t have made him mad, but given his growing resentment, it bothered him more than it should have.
And of course, Charlotte was one of those people that didn’t mind beating a dead horse. The joke went on longer than it needed to, and yet everyone still found it funny, even adding on to it.
After hanging out with his friends and finishing up assignments, Wriothesley had invited him over to his house. A month ago, that would’ve been an insane proposition, but Lyney took the invitation instantly, stomping his way to the bus that would take him into Wriothesley’s neighborhood.
Once he had got there, Wriothesley had taken him on his dining table. The chair that Wriothesley shoved off had fallen to the ground with a loud thud, but neither of them flinched. Rather, they were too caught up making out.
Lyney’s pants and underwear were strewn on the ground, along with Wriothesley’s shirt and sweatpants. Their lips clashed violently, tongues dipping into each other’s mouths. Wriothesley sucked on Lyney’s tongue and tugged. They had never kissed this passionately before. Their bodies swayed back and forth as their gasps were swallowed and spat out between their lips.
Below, Wriothesley stood between Lyney’s twitching legs and stabbed up at that growing pressure with his fingers. It was completely soaked and it dripped onto the table.
Lyney’s hips, as Wriothesley taught him, gyrated and matched the pace of his fingers. He was still messy, still inexperienced. The pure need to expend this energy allowed him to detach from the fact that he was feeding Wriothesley’s perversion.
Again, this was transactional.
Helplessly, he tried to clamp his legs together to prevent the urge to pee. His hips twitched. His mouth turned into a silent ‘O’ before his voice turned into a screeching call for Wriothesley’s name. It was both a warning and a wanton helpless cry as he felt his pelvic muscles loosen and spurt out a few drops of presumably his own release.
Lyney gasped and blabbered aimlessly, a mix of apologies and profanities that blurred as he started to slur. A frigid shiver shook his entire body, and he squirted all over Wriothesley’s naked abdomen.
As his body tensed up irregularly, he squeezed himself around Wriothesley’s fingers. His chest rose and dipped in rapid, chaotic succession. He weakly held onto Wriothesley’s biceps as each of his limbs began to go limp. In the backdrop of Lyney’s labored breaths was the sound of fluids dripping onto the floor, accumulating a puddle. Some of the fluids ran down his leg, past his ankles, and adhered around the curve of his heel.
Lyney slouched against Wriothesley’s chest, eyes still rolled back.
Once it was all over, Wriothesley took out his fingers, rubbed it around the mess, and stuck his soaked fingers onto Lyney’s lips, beckoning him to open up.
Gross. Lyney thought. However, a violent spark of a synapse in his brain told him to taste it and make it look good.
He opened his mouth and sucked. With them inside, he drew his tongue between the crevice of Wriothesley’s two fingers and swirled it around, and bobbed his head like he was giving him a blowjob. Slow, measured, tantalizing. Sweet, salty, tangy.
He would pull his lips to the tip of Wriothesley’s fingers before delving back, letting him hit the back of his throat. His eyes shuttered, and occasionally his eyes would focus and tilt up to see Wriothesley’s intrigued expression. His eyes would then unfocus as he lost himself in the repetitive motion of sucking his fingers, tasting his own spend, looking like a slut.
Because that night, he wasn’t some sulking student who couldn’t keep up with school and friends, but a whore who didn’t need to do anything but spread his legs.
Wriothesley muttered under his breath, and Lyney had to hide his amusement with doe eyes. The entire time they had been hooking up, he had figured that Wriothesley didn’t care for his personal pleasure, opting to look at him as a personal fleshlight who he occasionally treated with some head.
But for once, after all these months, Lyney took his own provocative step, and Wriothesley fucking loved it. Maybe Lyney did too.
This transition in their relationship— if it could even be called that, was far from smooth. That moment on Wriothesley’s dining table, if anything, made their future encounters more intense, more worse.
To make a long story short, Lyney had called the police one time. It was in the middle of the night, and before Wriothesley could choke Lyney out, red and blue lights flashed through the blinds, followed by banging on the door.
Outside, they were separated by two cops, and they told their personal accounts of what happened. Lyney only had on a shirt and hastily worn shorts. The cop had pulled a blanket from the car to keep Lyney warm. He was shivering all over, meek, shell shocked, sobbing, and he was far too overwhelmed trying to process what had just happened. The flashing police lights made it worse.
“And, how long has this been happening?” The cop asked.
“F—For… two… almost three months? I think?”
“What is your relationship with him?”
Not thinking about the consequences, lord knew his mind was too scrambled to think right, he said, “He’s… my professor.”
The cop’s eyes blew wide. Even in the dark, Lyney could see the shock and the judgment. “Excuse me?”
Lyney bit his lips and looked at Wriothesley, who was farther off, speaking to the other cop. He wondered how he was going to twist the story in his favor.
Wriothesley had caught Lyney staring, and instead of appearing mad, he seemed remorseful, frowning. Lyney seized up.
He felt absolutely stupid by how it just dawned on him that this could fuck up Wriothesley’s career and maybe his own as well. It’s just some kinky shit. Lyney knew this by now. Imagine if this blew up; would anyone want to take in a grad student who slept with their professor?
He glanced around the neighborhood block, seeing a few people peeping out the window, some being shameless enough to step out in their sleep attire to watch the unfolding scene. He crept deeper into the blanket.
The cop sputtered before saying, “Well, whether you’d like to explain the… development of this relationship is to your discretion, but if you’re being truthful, which I hope you are… this would warrant us to alert the university, and it will get pretty messy from there.”
That warning confirmed his suspicions. Hell, some of the people on this block could be his colleagues. It was already a fucking mess.
“Do you want to press charges?”
Lyney looked at the officer’s attire. The holsters of a gun and a taser protrude from their hips, and a walkie-talkie would occasionally buzz with muffled robotic voices. Of course, it was expected that a cop would have those, but it would only take one misunderstanding or step in the wrong direction to trigger that pistol. Lyney knew that all too well…
“I-I… I would have to—” He hiccuped, “I have to t-think about i-it.”
The cop sighed. “Do you need a lawyer?”
“I need some time.” Just how far was Lyney willing to escalate the situation for his own safety? If anything, that would make things worse.
“Really?”
The obvious lifeline dangled in front of him. But mindlessly, to buy time, he muttered again, “This is stressing me out— this is a lot, sorry, I have to think about it.”
“Are you safe? Do you feel safe?”
Lyney didn’t want to answer that. Absolutely not. He shook his head, but answered, “I’m fine, I think I just got scared. I’m fine.”
“If you got scared, then it was for good reason. You can tell me if you’re in danger.” Then, they said, slowly, “Legally, we can’t do anything if you don’t want to press charges. I could get you in contact with social workers who know how to navigate… situations like this.”
“I’m telling the truth. I just overreacted, I’m sorry for wasting your time.” Lyney added a smile and slight chuckle for safe measure, “I’ll call the precinct if something happens. Promise. Sorry.”
The cop didn’t change their expression. Instead, the cop pulled something out from their front vest pocket— Lyney flinched, prepared to duck, but it only revealed a pen. Along with that, they pulled out a notepad. They clicked their ballpoint pen to write out a number, and then tore the paper out to hand over.
“Here is my personal number. The precinct works 24/7 but I’d prefer you call me directly since I’m already…familiar with the situation. Saves time and resources.”
“Alright, thank you.” His hand peeped out of the blanket and took the paper.
Following the instructions the cop gave, they had dismissed the other officer that was with Wriothesley, saying that there won’t be any charges pressed. They reconvened, meanwhile Lyney slipped back inside the house, dropping the blanket off at the front so that the kind cop could take it back.
Shit.
He caged himself in Wriothesley’s house. Where was he supposed to go from here, what was Wriothesley gonna do to him?
Apologizing won’t do shit. God, he’s gonna be so fucking mad. He’s gonna kill me. He’s gonna fucking kill me!
He rubbed his hands together like a ball of yarn constantly twisting and turning in on itself. Dread tormented his gut the longer he stood alone in the foyer. More and more, his head was growing light. He stumbled against the wall.
The door behind him opened.
Lyney twisted around. He stopped breathing. The red and blue lights had ceased, drowning the two of them in a dark foyer. There was only a little bit of light coming from the porch lamp that seeped through the window engraved on the door.
“W-Wri—” Lyney started before his chattering teeth prevented him from saying more. Even the slightest sound of the door closing made him jump. He swallowed. “P-Please, I’m sorry, I-I-m sorry… please forgive me.”
Wriothesley stalked toward Lyney. Lyney continued rambling while backing away, tears beginning to spill. His knees buckled. He nearly fell had he not gripped the front entrance’s closet door knob. With the space between them dwindling, Lyney’s brain short-circuited— he whimpered. There was nothing that he could do; everything he did always led to another problem.
He willed himself to heave a deep breath lest he wanted to faint. Although, maybe he’d rather faint. His life was flashing before his eyes.
I’m sorry Lynette, Freminet, I’m so sorry, please, you’ll be fine without me—!
Backed against a wall, he let his body grow limp. His hands went to his chest as though his heart was going to fall out from beating so rapidly.
“Wriothesley… oh, Wrio, please—”
And then instantly, Wriothesley grabbed him and forced their lips together.
He barely processed it— he couldn’t process it. His hands gripped Wriothesley’s shirt to push him away, but he wouldn’t budge. Wriothesley was desperate and hungry, completely unresponsive to his resistance. Lyney screamed only for it to die. Like the sun was crawling closer to a glacier, the anxiety in his stomach shrunk, melting, but not without the fear of utter destruction. Sweltering, he twisted his head away only for Wriothesley to chase his lips.
The heat from the proximity made breathing near impossible. Lyney’s chest rose and fell, quaking his body. All the while, Wriothesley continued pulling Lyney closer, closer, closer…
Then, the scrunched fabric of Wriothesley’s shirt slowly relaxed. Muted, shaky whimpers evolved. It was completely beyond Lyney’s control as his arms slowly wrapped around Wriothesley’s neck. Before he could ask himself what was happening, the hands around his waist tightened and suddenly, his spine was arched, pressing their bodies into one.
It proliferated into an intense smash of lips, where they clashed as though they wanted to break each other’s teeth with their own. Lyney’s lips were misplaced, kissing Wriothesley’s lips and everywhere around. However, Wriothesley would reel him back by biting his lips, dragging him back into his mouth.
Wriothesley pressed Lyney against the wall, holding his right thigh to his hip, and their crotches rubbed together. Lyney whimpered in Wriothesley’s mouth from the friction. Violence and lust melted together into a hot pool of passion, licking the side of their foreheads with sweat. They were oozing of it.
He bit into Wriothesley’s lips, brought his hands up to his neck and squeezed, grabbed his hair and pulled— he was looking for just about every landmine he could step into, anything to make Wriothesley explode and fuck him.
An odd amalgamation of anger, fear, and elation festered. When Wriothesley slid Lyney’s shorts down, it itched all of those feelings in a way that was so fucking good that Lyney dared to laugh. A nervous laugh in absurd disbelief and frantic joy.
They dug each other’s nails into each other and scratched and bit each other’s neck, shoulders, stomach; any flab of fat on each other’s body, they took it. From afar, they looked like two lovers reunited after war.
But they were also feral animals in heat, growling and gnawing, and for the first time, Lyney would love how sore his pussy became, how painful it felt to where he could feel it rattle to the top of his ribcage. It was finally a punishment, a reward, that he deserved.
They ended up on the floor, where they ripped the rest of their clothes off. Every second their mouths parted was absolute agony. Just as quickly as he flinged Lyney’s shirt off, Wriothesley crashed their lips together.
The warm, rock-hard bulge pressing against his crotch made Lyney mew in delight, and with instinct, he winded his hips against it, relishing in the friction. To feel Wriothesley reciprocate by rutting in sync with his movements, it was—
“MnGH- ♡!” Lyney squealed. His back arched then shook violently as he came, the first of the many ones that were to come.
Not wanting to break the inertia of their frenzied passion, Wriothesley rearranged Lyney’s orgasming body into a mating press. He couldn’t move a single limb without twitching and convulsing. Instead, he could only gasp and moan at the way Wriothesley effortlessly manhandled him.
Just as he finished cumming, Wriothesley shoved his dick inside his cunt, mercilessly fucking him open and shoving him back into that slutty headspace. He laid his entire body weight in each thrust, smashing him against the ground all while groaning at Lyney’s wet heat that hugged his length so tightly.
Lyney cried, letting Wriothesley drill him into the small rug, which failed to cushion him from the hardwood floor beneath, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t like it. Even as he screamed in pain, his eyes would reach the back of his skull, and the discs of his spine could’ve grinded into dust. It felt like he was getting stomped on and it was just about the hottest thing ever.
Lyney keened, his hiss unraveling into a dirty moan, pitching with each drop of Wriothesley’s hips. All seven inches would plunge inside his pussy, carving itself inside.
He clenched around Wriothesley’s length— he was like a hungry wolf. He fucked like a hungry wolf.
“Trap you here forever, fuck, you would be so good…”
That sense of dread got fucked out of him, each slam making the proposition more enticing. He clung onto his remaining sanity, he really did, he tried, except it slipped away and Lyney felt himself falling. Frantically, he clawed at Wriothesley’s arms. He whimpered like Wriothesley was holding a knife to his throat, “please, please, puh-puh-les—”
“You would like that? Huh?”
Despite being pinned down, Lyney’s hips involuntarily hitched up. The way Wriothesley fucked his body had him shaking in a way that made his head nod yes, I want it, I want it so badly!
Wriothesley filled Lyney’s entire gut with his release. The latter’s body shook when he pulled out, his cock soaked in Lyney’s slick while maintaining its erect form like a sword drawn out of a wound. His pussy lips were noticeably looser, but he could feel himself overflowing.
Wriothesley slapped Lyney’s cunt— Lyney squeaked, instantly pushing out a thick stream of cum and eliciting a gooey, wet sound. They both groaned. His cunt repeatedly clenched and unclenched as if wanting to suck it back in.
It was against the floor, battered and hanging onto life while trying to fit cum in his dirty, dirty cunt where he realized with complete horror and arousal, he wanted to be fucked to death— how scary his own mind was, how so very possible it was and above all, how much that turned him on. No inhibitions, just pure, destructive lust.
Wriothesley loomed over him like a killer figuring out his victim was still alive, but Lyney bit his lips and kept his legs spread. His wet pussy was split open, and it did not look so different from a drooling, hungry mouth, asking for more. He looked absolutely ravishing.
The absence of light made it difficult to see what was on the other’s face; hatred, disgust, sadistic joy, all of the above, Lyney didn’t know.
There was always that possibility that Wriothesley truly hated Lyney and that this obscene attempt to appease his lust only made him look more… pathetic. Pathetic and vulgar.
Seeing that his open legged invitation didn’t budge Wriothesley, he pouted and tugged his wrists to wrap around him.
More, please?
That flicker of the unknown, of what Wriothesley wanted to do to him, was quickly annihilated when they kissed again, teeth crashing against each other. They filled the room with wet sounds.
It wouldn’t matter whether the cum stayed inside or not. The cum would be pushed in and out with Wriothesley’s thrusts, dripping down Lyney’s leg and onto the floor.
They also fucked on the table. Lyney, his hands pressed against the wood and prettied with an arch of the back, would push back and synchronize with Wriothesley bludgeoning his cervix. The table would inch forward, screeching against the floor and the legs wobbled with painful squeaks.
His vision blacked out. Every time he was about to faint from how brutally his cervix was getting fucked, Wriothesley would yank his head back by the hair and give a hard slap to wake him up.
Lyney was on his toes, being fucked further up the table until one of his feet dangled just above the ground, shaking with each piston of Wriothesley’s hips. The head of Wriothesley’s dick pierced past Lyney’s g-spot, hitting past his bladder, uterus, skewering it all until it created an obscene bulge out from his stomach.
“Wr-Wrio, m-my— oh, a-ah — ♡”
He flinched when Wriothesley grabbed his throat, choking him. The veins of his hands bulged out from his skin, and his finger bones protruded outwards into tense white lines.
That rush of fear activated his fight-or-flight and hyperventilating, he tried to wiggle out until Wriothesley slammed his chest onto the table— Lyney let out a sharp yelp, almost like a laugh, which then fizzled into a purr.
The professor muttered, “God, you’re tighter now…”
Desperate for any praise, Lyney let Wriothesley choke him while he pulled him onto his dick. The only breaths he could take were ones of mushed, hiccuped sobs. An unparalleled joy welled up in him and it was potent enough to kill. His face was turning red with the lack of oxygen, his eyes rolling back and his face wet with tears, snot, and spit.
“Look at you now…” Wriothesley groaned. “Can’t get enough…damn—”
Lyney whimpered before a violent climax came over. Even when his knees buckled below, Wriothesley kept him right where he wanted by letting go of his throat, holding onto Lyney’s arms and fucking him further up the table. The sudden influx of air was unbearable, and he cried out to be choked again. Tears rushed down his face; he didn’t want to breathe.
His mind crashed and burned while his cunt continued to be used. His hips repeatedly banged against the table’s edge, bruising the areas where his hipbones stuck out. Sharp pangs shot up at the bone. Uncontrollable trembles ran down his legs, turned into jelly. Frothy spit dripped onto the table’s surface. His nipples hovered over the table, occasionally grazing against the surface. The stimulation, regardless, was surreal.
His cunt ached from how turned on he was. He felt so disgusting; he was like an animal rubbing and dipping into wet mud with immeasurable glee. Repulsive, macabre arousal. Lifting the burden of just living off his shoulders all so he could be a fleshlight— it was his suicidal fantasy and it had him dripping everywhere.
Stab. Stab. Stab. Every stab was met with a wet sound, and like a crime scene, Lyney’s cum splattered everywhere. Brutal, vicious, Wriothesley fucked with the intent to kill. And oh, oh, they were so, so enamored.
Once Wriothesley came inside again, Lyney’s knees knocked together and almost collapsed if not for Wriothesley holding him up.
On the couch, Wriothesley hammered Lyney’s cunt while spreading his legs wide open. His stomach hurt from how his insides had been mutilated to accommodate Wriothesley’s dick.
His stomach was already bulging from how much Wriothesley had filled him. Through the fan of his lashes, he watched the slight jiggle of his stomach and fantasized the thought of it becoming fuller with—
A bundle of nerves bursted and Lyney squirted everywhere. As his eyes rolled back for the umpteenth time, Wriothesley held him down and made him feel every second of his intensive, convulsing orgasm.
Streams of lewd debauchery festered into an explosion of what Lyney could only describe as a slutty mania. His mind broke.
Every second was an orgasm, no breaks, stacking on top of each other, building, rising, and nothing felt real. Lyney couldn’t stop wailing and moaning and screaming and if the police ever came back, it would be about a noise complaint. A parasite of intense pleasure writhed through his body, eating away at his senses and frying his nerve endings.
Wriothesley whispered in his ear, egging him on, saying, good boy, let it out, doing so good for me. The hot rasps of breath curled around his face until he leaned down to kiss away Lyney’s tears.
It took an inappropriate amount of time to realize that Wriothesley was talking to him, that it wasn’t just his fucked-stupid brain hallucinating, and even more time to respond with a weak, thank you, t-thank you.
Every frantic spasm made Lyney clench around Wriothesley’s member. He kissed Wriothesley ravenously, who returned with equal rapture.
At this point, he had completely lost control of his pelvic floor. The sound of the liquid spraying across the couch fabric and onto the floor fueled them further. Spurts would fly up to their chins, although Lyney was mostly wetting himself. It felt like it would never stop. Wriothesley pulled out and jerked himself off until he let out weak spurts of cum over Lyney’s stomach.
The refractory period, untamed, didn’t affect them at all, no, they would just fuck into overstimulation. They were hot everywhere, tacky with sweat and fluids, and the cum around Lyney’s thighs never quite dried. At most, it was the texture of melted candle wax.
However mangled he was, Lyney still looked beautiful. Even more beautiful now drenched in sex. His hair was tousled in all directions and he had a blank, seductive face that still blushed like a virgin. A grotesque sight that naturally provoked anyone to fuck him. Wriothesley’s own sadism and curiosity triggered his desire to slap Lyney around, beat, maul, push, and fuck him.
They switched positions hastily, with Wriothesley plucking Lyney off his dick and pinning him into a certain position, where he then slid his dick back inside. Lyney couldn’t keep up but he continued taking it. This would go on and on, and god, their libidinal energy was unfathomable— Lyney looked like he was getting gangbanged and not only that, that he could take on more.
But he only wanted Wriothesley. Only Wriothesley.
Caught up in the momentum, Lyney in his stupor didn’t realize that at some point, he was doing all the work, working his pussy back and forth on Wriothesley’s cock, riding. Under his breath, he kept repeating, “ Wri-Wr-Wri-Wri-Wr-O-oh—!”
His chanting stopped. Wriothesley had slapped his face. Even when he was doing all he could to please him…
But Lyney came violently, flooding the rest of that couch. His left ear rang from how hard Wriothesley hit him, and later, his cheek would sizzle for the rest of the night.
“A-AA—! Ngh-NG— WR-WRI-TH-Oh— mmnyh— ♡!”
As another climax ripped through him (maybe it wasn’t another one, all of it blurred together), Wriothesley brutally fucked him past overstimulation. Even as his body subconsciously flinched away, Wriothesley held him with a vice grip to shove his pussy down on his dick. The jostling of his body made him dizzy. Every time he tried to anchor his eyes on Wriothesley, to see his muscles tinged with sweat, pumped, veined, the dizzying rocking of his body along with the severe undercurrents of pleasure would drag his gaze up at the ceiling, and he would completely forget where he was— Wriothesley slapped him, told him to keep his eyes on him. Like a dog, Lyney eagerly nodded.
(But a small part of him let his eyes flow back just to feel the warm affection of Wriothesley’s stinging hand).
That room, however big, was pungent with the smell of their sex.
By now, Lyney’s hole became loose, inciting a change of pace and trying something new; anal. No communication, just Wriothesley dipping his drenched fingers into Lyney’s hole and scissoring him open. Wriothesley teased it by letting his finger drift past Lyney’s soaked pussy, and just over his asshole. He watched Lyney look at him with those sexy half lidded eyes, daring him to do it. So, Wriothesley took his virginity again.
Lyney squirting from getting fucked in the ass was straight porn. The slow push and pull had him savoring every inch. He could barely keep his eyes open. He didn’t even know his ass could be used like this; his body continued to be repurposed into a sex toy with every new position they took.
And when Lyney turned around, his chin against the back cushion and his ass sticking out, Wriothesley pulled at his hair like two antlers and slammed in, their hips creating a loud series of dry claps.
Plap! Plap! Plap!
Out of all the pain, this was the worst. He screamed for it to stop, for once, please stop, only to go brain-dead once Wriothesley drove his cock in a way that poked through his anal walls and to his g-spot. For the rest of his abuse, he took it without a complaint, perhaps a little too blissfully. His moans turned into rasps. His lilac eyes melted into deep pools of twilight.
After their last round of anal, cum dripped out of both of his holes, thoroughly used. His teary gaze was zoned out and he was slumped against the couch like a toy that was played with too roughly. A sex doll, really. Or, a VHS cassette tape with all the tape pulled out and tangled into a mess. Anything but a person, let alone a person deserving of respect.
“You wanna stop?” Wriothesley teased. He ran his hands up and down his waist. One of the hands went down to Lyney’s ass, tracing over the red palm print, reigniting the flaring pain.
Lyney couldn’t answer, still drunk on cock while wearing a half-lidded daze look. He murmured something that had trickled into a lewd whine. Drool ran down his chin. He could’ve cum from how Wriothesley was stroking his body— his finger grazed against his nipple and he let out a high pitched moan and squeezed his thighs together as a gush of cum, slick, and blood dripped out. He was completely unrecognizable. Everything thrummed under his skin.
Distantly, he heard Wriothesley laugh at his state, and yet he still smiled, nuzzling his head against him. Of course, Wriothesley knew it was still him despite it all. He felt so safe.
Wriothesley pulled Lyney into his lap, with his chest pressing against Lyney’s back. He opened up Lyney’s legs, further stretching that ache in his hips. Their legs… were drastically different sizes.
He ran his calloused fingers over Lyney’s clit. His entire hand eclipsed his crotch. At a slow pace with a light touch, Lyney whimpered and tried to press into it for more friction. He brought his hand over Wriothesley’s hand to press it, but he slapped his hand away.
“No… don’t move, let me do it.”
“Wrio…♡ ngh—!” Lyney cried once Wriothesley pinched his clit. He swore he came again, body tensing so bad it hurt. His mouth dropped, followed by a long string of saliva trickling down his chin and onto Wriothesley’s arms.
Wriothesley moved his hands in circular motions, making wide revolutions on top of his clit to the bottom of his cunt. “Like it when I do that?”
“I-I— I like an- any-th-th-fi-fing you do!” Lyney cried out his confession. He had always loved this! Always! Even when he cried and pushed away, he couldn’t help but love how Wriothesley fucked him up— wasn’t that always the case? Had Lyney tricked himself into hating it? Did he… ever hate it?
He threw his head back and onto Wriothesley’s shoulder. He could smell all the musk from sweat, headier, thicker, like an intense fog. As a good slut, he kept his legs open despite how much he was writhing.
His face was drenched in tears and cum— Wriothesley had finished inside him so many times his stuffy nose was plugged with cum, leading to that whiny and wanton voice of his. It was difficult to breathe and talk, and his throat was scratched up. He kept rambling nonsense, like how much he loved Wriothesley. He echoed his gibberish until it was a new language. His toes curled at the pleasure.
As Wriothesley continued playing with his clit, Lyney grabbed one of his hands, and like a pacifier, he sucked on the former’s thumb.
The shower was also a victim to their frenzy. Lyney, completely used, came over and over, the inside of his thighs sparkling with endless arousal. Even though they have fucked to the point where every friction, slight or not, was raw, burned, ached, they kept at it. It was the best torture of his life.
He cried against the white porcelain tiles of the shower, echoing through the entire house. They fucked everywhere, and they fucked like there was no tomorrow. Lyney never knew a joy like this.
By the end of it, Lyney’s entire body was covered in various colors that he didn’t even know bruises could make, and they didn’t sleep until five in the morning. Just before bed, Wriothesley mailed an announcement to the class saying that he had to cancel. Something about being sick. It was not entirely a lie.
Lyney, along with Wriothesley’s class, skipped his other classes that day. His debilitating self worth and sober realization finally fell onto him, inflicting him with clarity.
What the hell was wrong with him?
As he walked to bed, he had to hold himself up to the wall. He trudged, sobbing like a banshee, “W-Wriothesley? Wrio—”
“What is it, baby? Are you okay?”
Lyney cried. Without the wall, he would’ve fallen on the floor, so he stayed there, crying. Eventually, he felt a hand reach out and pull him into bed. Wriothesley wiped away his tears, asking what was wrong over and over until Lyney could speak. Even then, his hiccups made him incoherent.
He stayed with Wriothesley, whispering how sorry he was, how much he regretted it, how he’ll never do that again, and Wriothesley, oh Wriothesley, would pet the back of his head and whisper comforting words.
He wanted Wriothesley to fuck him again so he wouldn’t have to feel how much he hated himself but they were both too tired.
Lyney dug his face into the crook of Wriothesley’s neck, sobbing until he passed out. He was so, so tired. Only Wriothesley could love him, no one else. If all his friends knew how fucking messed up he was…
His legs and pelvis ached so much. Even though any sleeping position would trigger the slightest pain, it was the best nap of his life. And, he also wished that it would be his last.
Later that day, his friends texted him, asking where he was. By then, he was still in Wriothesley’s bed, although just by himself this time around since the professor decided to make their late-breakfast. He claimed that he was sick, but then Charlotte called him, asking why won’t he open his door— she bought clementines for fucks sake! He muttered, I’m tired right now. Come back another time.
It was sweet that his friends did care after all these weeks of feeling like utter shit. He just wished they cared before everything had transpired.
But maybe Lyney was glad that Wriothesley loved someone as flawed as him. Maybe everything was fine.