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Sinful

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The way he whimpers and twists in your grasp is absolutely sinful. You're more than aware that your grasp isn't nearly strong enough to hold him down; he's so much stronger than you, what with you two being on opposite sides of the spectrum.
But he submits, like the sweet, desperate thing that he is. And when you speak his name, he doesn't hesitate to answer, because he knows what you want. You've trained him so well.
"Cr9nus?"
"yessir?"
Sinful. God, is that really the only way you could describe him?
"I'm g9ing t9 let y9u g9. When I d9, I want y9u t9 turn 9ver 9nt9 the platf9rm." You speak clearly, so that he knows exactly what to do.
You don't miss the way his eyes flutter for a moment, like he can't wait to obey your every command.
You call it training. But really. He does everything you say so smoothly, like he was built to obey. Perhaps it's in his nature. Perhaps it's the fact that no one else would even think about touching him. He was desperate, and he was yours.
It's embarrassing. You're possessive, dangerously so. You can't imagine what kind of trouble that would get you into, if he had more friends.
Oh. Right, you were supposed to be following your own damn instructions. Of course. No use in keeping him waiting, because you're starting to get increasingly impatient as well.
Your hands leave his wrists, and you back off. Each of Cronus' movements is so eager, in the way he arches his back as he rolls over, to the way he pushes his knees up under himself, thighs spread. And when he bends his back this time, it's to show off his pretty nook, flushed and dripping violet.
He's beautifully sinful. And he's all yours.
"G99d 69y." You love watching how the praise affects him.
He bends further, showing off more of that beautiful nook, and you watch a thick bead of violet material drip down his slate grey thigh. You catch it with your tongue before it can reach the sheets. You know they'll be ruined by the end of this, but that simple movement makes him tense a bit, before he wiggles his hips at you slightly, and he knows that he's tempting you.
You give him a swat, right on the spread lips of his nook for his trouble. The wet smacking sound the contact makes has you biting your lip. But the reaction you get from Cronus is even better.
He squeals, nook clenching around nothing. His bulge lashes, writhing and curling into itself. The display makes you want to smack him again, to wail away on his nook. He could get off from it too, without ever having anything press into him. But you're feeling kind. And you think he looks so needy, so sinful, you can't help but give him what he wants.
The thin sheen of violet spread across your fingers is wiped absentmindedly against the back of his thigh, before you're leaning in, tongue dragging one long, harsh stripe against the throbbing folds of his nook. You slurp up the material that his entrance offers to you greatly.
Cronus nearly sobs, and you hear him whimper some mix of 'sir' and 'kan'. You press your lips to his nook, purely so that he can feel it when you smile against him.
You waste no time in eating your violet out with fervor, tongue rough and merciless. It makes him keen, thighs quaking as he pushes back against your tongue.
He's so desperate, so very needy. Cronus needs to be put in his place consistently, needs to be reminded of where he stands. Which is under you.
You think that maybe it has something to do with the spectrum as you lick the material from him. The fact that a royal violet is willing to let you, a mutant, someone that doesn't even fit on the spectrum, lick him out and fuck him and own him is like a power-high. It makes your bulge twist in your leggings.
But you don't pull it out. No, you don't feel like fucking him into the platform tonight. You feel like making him cry. So when you bare your teeth and push them against his nook, you revel in the way you can feel him throb, and grind back against you, voice skyrocketing to a high, whining mewl. You grip his thigh, pulling it aside to spread his nook wider.
You growl against him. He sobs, begging, pleading for you to fuck him, let him ride your bulge, or your face, anything, sir, i've been so good, and it's adorable. He's so, so cute, wanting whatever you have to offer. You could tell him to get off by rutting against your leg like a filthy slut and he'd do it, and thank you for it too. In fact, you rather like that idea. Perhaps you'll have him do that at a later date. But for now, you're content with shoving your tongue past his pretty folds, your tastebuds rough against his inner walls as you penetrate him.
He tastes tart, like blackberries that aren't yet ripe. It's a taste you love. You've had him stay still while you ate him out for far too long once, pushing him to orgasm after orgasm, until he was pushing weakly at your hair, begging for mercy.
God, that was your favorite part.
You're starting to think that you're a bit sadistic. But he was a masochist. You two were a pair. Cronus loved to push, and you loved to give him what he deserved.
You find yourself lost in thought as you almost furiously eat your precious violet out, who's sobbing out watery squeaks, hips jerking like it's too much, like he's trying to get away from the stimulation, but you know better. That means he's getting close.
He feels oh so overwhelmed, and you can imagine his facial expression in this moment, eyes squeezed shut, lips twisted into an open-mouthed trill, pale lavender tears staining the sheets as you snarl and fuck his cute nook with your tongue.
You know it's going to happen before he comes. His hips jerk feverishly against your tongue, nook spasming, his bulge curling into a tangled ball against his stomach as he cries out, your name gracing his lips.
When he's come down from his high, you clean his material-drenched nook and sheathe with your tongue; and when he jerks away this time, you know it's from over stimulation. You reward him with matching hickies on the insides of his soft, smooth thighs. It makes him whimper and mumble out a fussy noise. You chirr at him, directing him to roll over without sitting right in his own cum.
Eventually, you manage to ease the sheets out from under him. Cleaning up is an important part of the process, after all.
Cronus is half-asleep when you turn back to him after dropping the sheets into your hamper. He's cute, and you tell him as much.
"vwhat?" He mumbled, blinking hard. Translucent, nearly-white lavender eyes finally focus on you. "oh- thanks chief. guess id prolly call myself hot, yknowv? but i appreciate it~" He winks.
His flirting is absolutely unneeded. In fact, you give him a swat on the inside of his thigh for his trouble.
The way Cronus squeaks is adorably sinful.