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Underneath the glittering chandeliers lit in honor of Chrom’s birthday ball, Robin blazed even brighter.
Chrom watched her move between the nobility assembled in the ballroom—the first time she’d had occasion to test the waters since their wedding earlier in the spring—as deft and skilled at politicking as he’d known she would be. He stole glimpses of her looking resplendent in her new dress in his colors and glowed with pride to see how well Robin was adapting, just like he’d known she would. She sparkled, witty and vivacious and bubbling over with curiosity at the opinions and viewpoints she could pluck from the courtiers of Ylisse.
Sometimes, though, she had to be rescued from herself. He watched with dismay as she puffed up while speaking to a portly viscount, clearly on the verge of bursting into an impassioned defense of the only thing that could provoke her so quickly—Chrom himself. He lurched toward the pair to intervene without a second thought.
“So sorry to interrupt, er…” Chrom trailed off, realizing too late as he latched onto his wife’s elbow that he did not remember the name of this particular viscount. The man’s face puckered and Chrom’s need to flee the situation with Robin increased immeasurably. “...sir. Ahem. I need to steal my wife away for a moment.”
“Milord.” The viscount seethed, but nodded his agreement.
Chrom turned both himself and Robin away before things could go worse. Robin shot a dark look over her shoulder in parting.
Chrom shifted his grip on her elbow to a gentle guiding hand at her lower back. He tried to brush off curious nobles as graciously as possible in his pursuit of privacy and soon successfully ushered Robin to a small balcony that opened over a small garden, the night air cool on their skin after the stifling warmth of the ballroom.
Robin paced out to the railing and spread her hands, leaning against it as she tipped her head up to drink in the sky.
“You can’t stop me from reaming out every person who questions your capability, you know,” she said ruefully, not taking her eyes off the stars.
Bright moonlight streamed down, lending a glow to Robin’s white hair that struck him speechless for a moment. Chrom stepped up behind her and leaned forward with his own arms braced around hers, her head tucked neatly under his chin. She pressed back against him, subtly cuddling into his chest, and his fingers tightened on the balustrade.
“Honored as I am by your defense, I’d hope my tactician might see the value in picking her battles where that’s concerned,” Chrom murmured. Robin snorted in response, then drooped and leaned her weight more heavily against him as if conceding the point. “Besides, I can’t even remember the poor man’s name, so his grudge might be entirely justified.”
“Now, that’s not fair.” Robin’s fire was rekindling, warming to her defense of him once again. “There’s over two hundred viscounts, Chrom. Expecting you to remember them all by name is unfair.”
“Emmeryn did it,” Chrom sighed. His fingers slipped from the balustrade and he stared down into the shadows of the garden spread out below, his fists clenched helplessly at his side. His inadequacies compared to his sister only seemed to grow with time, as if there was a chasm yawning between the person she had been and the person he was and he was perpetually falling short.
Robin hummed. She slipped her hands down his forearms, pulling them around her waist and gently opening his fists to clasp their hands together over her stomach.
“And she was extraordinary for it. But Chrom”—Robin squeezed her hands around his—“it’s okay if you don’t do everything the same way. It’s okay if you don’t off-hand remember the name of a viscount who thinks you need to stop taxing him, specifically. Ylisse won’t fall to ruin over it.”
Chrom let out a sharp breath between his teeth, half laugh and half hiss. “I know, I know…I’m trying to accept it all. But some days I wake up and it takes a second for me to remember that she’s gone, and it all falls on me, now, and I’m so much lighter in that moment before it…” Chrom trailed off. Robin waited him out, patient in a way he knew she only was with him, and it was a small balm on his soul. They stared out at the night sky together while Chrom gathered his courage to speak.
“And then I feel terrible for thinking of myself before I think of her,” he muttered, as if voicing that thought any louder would make it an even worse part of him.
Robin bristled in his arms. “It’s not terrible to grieve your new burden while you grieve your sister, love. Those are entangled, and I’ll fight anyone who says it’s not legitimate to feel sad over the loss of the life you expected to have. Even if it’s you saying it. So watch out.” She slid a hand out from under his to poke his side.
Chrom buried his face in her hair to muffle his watery chuckle. “Thank you, lovebird,” he said.
Robin, predictably, rounded on him to correct him. Chrom felt a smile fight its way onto his face.
“That’s not even close to being a similar species of bird as a robin!” Robin protested, though she too was unable to contain a small smile.
“Ah, see, but my Robin is a lovebird,” Chrom said. His cheeks burned with the force of his blush—intentionally spouting sweet nothings instead of accidentally blurting them out was still new and awkward for him—but it was worth it to see Robin’s own flush paint her face before she hid her face in her hands and groaned. She leaned forward to plant herself against his chest again, face-first this time.
Chrom embraced her, hugging until she lowered her hands from her face and embraced him back.
“You’re too sweet,” she mumbled into his chest.
Chrom cupped her cheek, tipping her head back to get a good look at her face in the moonlight. He sent silent thanks to the gods for the nearly full moon—Robin was radiant, her dark eyes sparkling up at him with humor and love. Tendrils of her starlight hair escaped her bun, artfully arranged to frame her face, and Chrom’s thoughts snagged on the idea that it would look even more beautiful in their bed, spilling free against the sheets—
Robin’s fingertips abruptly pressed over his lips. Chrom realized he had been leaning in to kiss her without a second thought and pushed down his disappointment.
“Sorry, but I just got used to wearing stuff on my lips to these formal events, and if I let you kiss me now, we’re going to smear it all over each other’s faces and Maribelle will have a cow about me ruining her hard work. And everyone will know what we were up to out here,” Robin said, wry and amused. She dropped her hand and Chrom caught it, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.
“Isn’t that what everyone is going to assume we were doing out here anyway?” Chrom teased.
“Probably, but there’s a difference in the hit to our collective dignity to walk back out there looking a mess,” Robin retorted.
“Alright, alright,” Chrom laughed. “No kissing. But maybe…”
His fingers trailed down her waist to her skirts, bunching and gathering the fabric to raise the hem.
“Here? You’re crazy. They’re probably already expecting us back inside,” Robin whispered. Even in the washed out light of the moon he could see her blush deepening.
“We can head back if you want,” Chrom breathed against her temple, pressing kisses into her hair since he was denied her mouth. Her hair was soft and fragrant against his lips, and his thoughts drifted again to how glorious it looked fanned out in the privacy of their bed. He inhaled slowly, drinking her in.
“W-well, I mean…” Robin shifted under his attentions, her skirts rustling as he balled them up against her waist. “We can stay out a little longer…”
Holding her skirt pinned with one hand, Chrom used his teeth to tug his glove off the other, stuffing it into his pocket before pressing his fingers between her legs without preamble. Robin gave a soft cry and arched into his touch, subtly spreading her thighs for him further. Chrom teased her, chasing her inner thigh instead, brushing his knuckles along that petal soft skin and savoring the quiver that ran through her. Robin clutched his shoulders as her breathing grew heavier.
He felt his way up, stroked along the crease where Robin’s thigh melted into her hip, all the while spilling endearments. His own excitement was rising rapidly, all of the blood in his body in a rush to move down at once as he made his way to her cunt.
“Is this where you want me, my love?” he whispered against her ear when he finally reached the cleft of her and pressed a finger along it, cupping her. Robin’s hips bucked and she trembled, almost panting now.
Chrom’s finger traced the edge of the fabric covering her, her folds already growing damp from her arousal, and he angled his finger to—
“There you are, milord! Ah, a-and you as well, milady,” came a voice from the balcony entrance.
Chrom and Robin startled, jumping apart as if they’d been electrified. Heartbeat thumping in his ears, Chrom spun while tugging Robin’s skirts down with one swift motion and greeted the servant. Luckily, Chrom thought, his own body should have blocked Robin from sight. Mostly.
Unluckily, he was now hard as a rock and being summoned back to the spotlight.
“They want you to lead the dances,” the servant—a gangly youth named Milo—explained uneasily. Milo clearly expected to have his head bitten off.
Chrom took a deep breath and adjusted himself in what he hoped was a subtle shift, trying to will his erection down. Milo’s eyes cast themselves to the side, and Chrom knew that he knew. He coughed into his fist.
“We’ll be right there, Milo. Thank you,” he gritted out. The boy made his escape gratefully.
Robin’s laugh tinkled behind him. “I don’t know if my legs are going to carry me through dancing after that,” she said, still laughing.
Chrom groaned. “Do you think we can just tell everyone to go home?” he asked.
He and Robin could tuck themselves away in their chambers all night and it wouldn’t matter at all if she smeared her lip color kissing him, and he could spend his time on something much more worthwhile than showing off for a bunch of nobles he could see any old time.
Robin replied by digging his glove out from his pocket and pulling it back onto his hand with great care. He watched her smooth the cloth out with great tenderness, her touch lingering on his wrist after she fastened the buttons.
“No way out but through, beloved,” she said, smiling to take the sting out. He helped her unrumple her skirts as much as possible and they entered the fray again, together.
Chrom was dying. He was going to perish on the spot if Robin didn’t throw him down and ride him soon.
They’d surprisingly managed to arrange themselves back into a semblance of order, and the dancing itself was going wonderfully. Too wonderfully. Holding Robin so close, her chest brushing his when she ran out of breath on the fast dances—her chest bouncing within its confines during the more energetic dances, enticingly on display with her dress cut to great advantage—her flushed face and her dark eyes he could drown in and her laugh and the way sweat beaded and ran down her neck—he was dying.
Even when they split up to dance with other partners there was no relief from his torment. Then he had to watch her be enchanting from afar, see her hand perched on someone else’s shoulder. He wasn’t jealous enough to make a scene out of it, of course. Dancing and socializing with the nobility was the point of the night.
He just wished she didn’t have to look so heart-stoppingly beautiful while they did so.
“I see an old crone like myself cannot hold the attention of our dear king tonight,” his dance partner sighed.
Chrom’s head whipped back around from craning his neck to see Robin amid the crowd. He stumbled, embarrassed at being caught out. Lady Dacre laughed heartily as he paused and then rejoined them into the throng of dancers in time with the beat of the music.
“Deepest apologies,” he said stiffly.
Lady Dacre waved off his apology in that aristocratic, lazily elegant way only a woman of her age and station could ever seem to manage. “It does my heart good to see the vigor of youth in love,” she claimed, her voice rich with amusement.
He tripped over his feet as Robin’s bright laugh rang out behind them and Lady Dacre practically cackled. Thankfully, the dance was soon over and she released him to swan off, no doubt to inform all of the other irreproachable elderly noble ladies of what an amusing spectacle Chrom was making of himself.
“May I have the next dance, handsome?” Robin’s voice soothed his nerves and set him on fire, all at once. Her hand curled around his bicep.
“Robin, thank the gods,” Chrom huffed. “I think if I fake pulling my hamstring we can—”
“Chrom!” Robin cried. “The night’s nearly over now! We’re seeing this through, birthday boy. Dance with me one more time,” she pleaded, the warmth of her eyes drawing him in and drowning his resistance.
He could do one more dance. For Robin.
It was a waltz, sweeping and necessitating a closeness between partners that had once been considered obscene. When Chrom was a boy and had suffered through hours of dance classes, he’d thought it ridiculous. What could be scandalous about a stuffy old dance?
Holding Robin in his arms now, the two of them practically glued together from chest to hip as they swept across the dance floor, Chrom was mightily rethinking his childhood stance on such matters.
It was easy to forget how small Robin was sometimes. She was so lively and had such a big presence in any room she was in that one hardly noticed her diminutive stature. But with one of his hands engulfing hers, the other perched on her waist and her cheek resting against his chest and shoulder, Chrom was reminded of it. His bird, precious and fragile and strong all at once.
She was also unbearably sexy, and he was still dying, watching as a bead of sweat made its way between her breasts before disappearing under her neckline. His trapped cock throbbed uncomfortably between his legs. Gods, he wished that bead of sweat was him. He wished nobody else was in the room and he could lay her down right then and there. He wished he had faked pulling his hamstring. He wished he wouldn’t have to part from her after this dance was over and reveal his second erection of the night.
Maybe Robin would agree to keep dancing until everyone else did leave, and then they could jump each other on the spot like animals.
Robin’s hot breath fanned against his neck, drifting over his high collar to tickle his skin. Her hand on his shoulder drifted to the nape of his neck, tangling and toying with his hair just the way he liked, the way that sent tingles shooting down his spine and made his blood hot. Chrom tensed even further under her hands, cursing and blessing her all at once. She had to know what she was doing to him, the minx.
“Robin,” he said under his breath, “are you teasing me on purpose?”
“Hmm?” she asked dreamily, her voice syrupy and coy. She arched her back, pressing her breasts more firmly against him. Her hips brushed against his as they turned, and Chrom saw her smirk as she felt the bulge in his trousers.
He spun her out and swiftly reeled her back into his hold, her skirts flaring out.
“I am going to return all of this teasing tenfold once we’re alone,” he said.
Robin’s breath hitched, and then they moved into a series of lifts where she hopped and he supported with his hands on her waist, flying through the air. The lifts always made Robin giggly.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” she said, snickering once they were gliding along the floor again.
Chrom reined himself in, his retort sitting on the tip of his tongue. Soon, he thought. Very, very soon.
Somehow, through the mercy of Naga perhaps, Chrom made it through the whole of the dance without combusting. And then, even more miraculously, it was finally late enough that he could leave his own birthday celebration without looking like a massive wet blanket.
In a daze, he managed to get himself under control enough to say cordial goodbyes to his guests and begin guiding a still giddy Robin back to their chambers.
“It wasn’t a threat, it was a promise,” he said at last, continuing the thread of their conversation he’d dropped during their dance. He watched Robin’s thoughts catch up. A devilish twinkle snuck into her eyes as he added, “I always keep my promises, as you know.”
Without waiting for a response, he began tugging Robin down the hall by the hand. When she lagged behind, though, he turned back to see her tottering and half-stumbling behind him, unable to keep pace with him.
“Chrom,” she gasped out between laughter, “I can’t keep up with your stride on a good day, let alone when my feet hurt from dancing in these perilous shoes all night.”
Chrom flushed, embarrassed to have gotten so caught up he forgot about her needs. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He pressed a contrite kiss to the hand he held captured. Then he stepped right into her personal space, planted his shoulder against her midsection and lifted up and into her weight, hefting her over his shoulder. Chrom wheeled about and restarted his march to their bedchambers with renewed purpose.
Robin let out a squawk of surprise, though it came out wheezy and muted. “Is being hauled about like a sack of grain your idea of romance, you big lug?” she asked, though there was still a thread of laughter in her voice. Her feet kicked out and Chrom shrugged, re-adjusting her weight to sit more securely before she slipped.
“I was thinking the romantic part would be once we got upstairs, my love. The sooner the better, right?”
“I don’t know what else I expected from my wyvern in heat,” Robin teased, knowing how much it pained him to be reminded of his own clumsy, fumbled proposition. Seven hells, was she constitutionally incapable of not teasing him tonight?
A light tapping of Robin’s dangling fingertips against Chrom’s ass wiped his mind blank. His steps halted in the middle of the hall.
Robin cackled. “At least the view from this angle is nice,” she decided, now most definitely tapping out a rhythm, her touch ticklish. Chrom squirmed, jostling her intentionally.
“You’re incorrigible,” he said once she settled down. If he snuck in a squeeze to her own bottom before he began climbing the stairs, well, that was his business. Simply ensuring he had a secure hold on his precious wife, naturally.
“Says the man who tried to finger me on a balcony in the middle of his own party!” Robin cried.
“So we’re both incorrigible,” Chrom grunted. Climbing a winding staircase with Robin over his shoulders perhaps wasn’t his smartest move. “I knew we were made for each other.”
“Are we nearly there, my darling barbarian? I’m starting to get dizzy from all this upside-down…ness.”
Chrom snorted. “You’re lightheaded from the breathtaking romance of being carried like a sack of grain, surely,” he said. He rounded the top of the stairs and nodded to a silent pair of guards as they opened the doors to the wing of the castle inhabited by the royal family.
“Lightheaded isn’t how I would put it,” Robin muttered. “I was hoping I’d have blood rushing other places tonight.”
Chrom reached the doors of their chambers, passing another pair of guards who quietly allowed them through. Finally. Alone with Robin at last, a closed door between them and the rest of the world. Chrom sighed in relief and slid Robin down from his shoulder, guiding her back to her feet. She leaned against the door.
“Oh! Hello,” she said, giggly and clearly still dizzy from her ride. She twined her arms around his shoulders. “I—mmph!”
Chrom cut her off with a kiss. Robin moaned and melted into it, spurring him on. He pressed forward, enjoying the way their bodies molded together as their kisses slid together, lips parting and tongues stroking and warm breath fanning out before they dove back in for more. The warmth of her mouth and the soft sighing sounds she made set his groin hardening, cock twitching in its confines while heat pooled in his gut.
The two of them fumbled around, kicking off shoes with their lips locked together. His hands pulled her forward just enough to fit behind her and loosen the fastenings of her dress. Impatiently, Chrom shoved the dress down to crumple in a heap on the floor and leave her only in her undergarments and shift, then hitched his hands where her thighs met the curve of her ass to once again lift her off the floor.
Robin squealed and clung harder to his shoulders. She clamped her legs tightly around him. Chrom pinned her against the door, his hips grinding against hers in a bid for friction and relief, but it only made his arousal swell more. His blood thundered in his veins, pulsing heat that simmered just under his skin in a way that made everything more sensitive to Robin’s touch. Her fingers clutched tightly at his shoulders, scrabbled over the buttons of his coat until it hung open, ruffled and combed through his hair again and again. Her nails scratched his scalp and sent shivers running through him, and her hips matched his, meeting him with her own desperate, coaxing circles that he recognized well—she was trying to rub something against her clit. Robin needed more.
Instead, he stepped back from the door and began carting her to their washroom. While he paused their kissing to look where he was going, he could see that her lips’ makeup was indeed ruined, smeared into the bow of her lips and over one corner of her mouth. Chrom’s own lips quirked when he caught sight of his face in the mirror and saw that they matched, an equal amount having transferred to his face.
Robin didn’t give him long to think on it, choosing instead to bury her face against him. She found the sensitive spot behind his ear and kissed it tenderly, then blazed a sloppy path with tongue and teeth down his neck. She pouted when he put her down on the edge of their tub.
“This is going to be the fastest either of us have washed up for bed yet, I think,” Chrom said gruffly.
Robin snorted, and moved swiftly into her bedtime routine as if her life depended on it, scrubbing both of their faces clean while Chrom tried to maneuver around her ministrations and get them both closer to naked, free of all the supportive undergarments one needed to be proper at a ball.
“Record time,” she agreed gravely, then plunged into cleaning her teeth with something approaching ferocity.
Her shift, bless it, did not survive. Unable to pull the flimsy fabric over her head without interrupting her, he simply opted to rip it clean off her. Chrom stripped her down until she was bare except her stockings and garter belt, which he decided could stay. Running his thumb under the top of the lace to stroke her skin made his blood run heady and thick in his veins.
His own preparations were no less rushed, but then they were ready, finery shed and nightly ablutions finished. This time, they tugged each other to the bed, a push-pull across their rooms that sent Chrom’s head spinning. Robin tumbled in first, Chrom stumbling right after her. He caught his weight on his forearms, braced around her to keep from flattening her, and drank in the sight of her. Robin’s hair was loosened from her formal style, a curling lock falling out the bottom of the bun now that most of the pins had been removed.
Chrom stroked her cheek, then slipped his hand under her head to free her hair the rest of the way. Warm affection bubbled up in his chest at the sight of her. Gently, he worked out the rest of the pins, letting her hair spill against the sheets the way he’d imagined earlier. Robin curled into his touch like a cat, all arching smug satisfaction while demanding more. She hooked her legs around his waist again and Chrom knew that he’d have to change their positions or end up bowled over by his wife’s magnetic pull, unable to string out her pleasure the way he’d intended.
He disentangled himself, shifting so that he could lay down on his side and pull Robin into his hold, cradling her body against his. Robin allowed it happily enough, turning her face back to Chrom in a silent plea for kisses. Chrom obliged with more languor than their earlier frantic kisses—he had Robin right where he wanted her, and he intended to enjoy it fully.
Chrom’s hands cupped Robin’s breasts and set to work.
Her nipples were hardened into stiff little peaks, and he gently pinched one between his thumb and forefinger, rolling and tugging experimentally while his other hand squeezed the breast in its care. Robin’s whole body shifted in response, arching in a sinuous wave that pressed her chest into his hands and pushed her ass against his erection. Then he slipped his thigh between hers to give her something to rub her cunt against, careful not to give her an angle that would be properly satisfying. They lay that way for an interminable amount of time—Chrom busily fondling and pinching and tugging at Robin’s increasingly sensitive nipples while she writhed in his arms. They kissed until Chrom’s lips felt tingly and raw.
Robin eventually lost patience with him, her own kiss-swollen lips parted around a petulant whine.
“Chrom,” she said, her voice soft and pleading, “I think you’ve paid me back by now.” Her hand started to drift back behind her, grasping for his cock where it lay stiffly poking into her lower back. Chrom merely caught her hand by the wrist. He kissed the back of it tenderly, right between the eyes of the mark that she always put in such pains to hide, and then snagged her other hand as well for good measure. Her small wrists were easy enough to pin against the bed with one hand while he gave three teasing tugs on the nipple his other hand still held captive. Robin squirmed, fruitlessly riding his thigh in search of pressure for her clit, her stockings rubbing soft against his legs as her feet kicked around his ankles. She gave a cry of frustration, and Chrom relented with a kiss to her neck.
He rolled them both over, settling Robin on her hands and knees while he molded himself to her back. She practically vibrated in anticipation, radiating smug happiness at having bent him to her will. Robin knew he was a soft touch when it came to her wishes. Chrom drew her hands up by the wrists, pressing them down against the mattress again.
“Keep them here, please,” Chrom requested, then slid his own hands down her sides while he sat back on his heels. Robin’s self-satisfied aura visibly melted away as he withdrew.
“Chrom,” Robin said again, almost mournfully this time, her cheek planted against the pillow so that she could speak to him over her shoulder. She tried to flip herself over only to be stymied by a firm grip on her hips, holding her where she was.
“I promised tenfold retribution, love,” Chrom reminded her. He indulged himself, groping her ass with both hands. Robin’s waist flared out into delightfully lush hips with a bottom to match, round and full and eminently squeezable. Chrom took his time, working his way down her ass to her thighs, stroking and teasing a path down to her pussy at last. His thumbs worked in tandem, tenderly spreading her folds for his inspection.
Robin’s skin glowed in the low firelight of their bedroom with a fine sheen of sweat, but between her legs she glistened, practically dripping with her want. Her hips bucked back instinctively but Chrom held her still, admiring the view. A sense of pride stirred in him as he took in the fruits of his hard work. His cock also took a prurient interest, especially when he stroked his finger down the cleft of her and was rewarded with a long, low moan and Robin widening her stance in invitation.
“You’re so beautiful when you spread your legs for me,” Chrom whispered. He nudged her thighs just to watch her spread them further still, reveling in the knowledge that it was for him. He toyed with the ribbons still gamely holding her stockings up.
Robin answered with a throaty laugh that didn’t entirely mask the desperation in her voice. “Only then?”
“Of course not,” Chrom scoffed. His cock throbbed, twitching as he dwelled on thoughts of silky, wet heat. Chrom wasn’t an especially patient man. The promise of making his wife feel good was one of the few things that could motivate him to test the endurance of his forbearance, and he was reaching his own limit. “Just especially then.”
Taking himself in hand, he rubbed the head of his cock against her labia and oh, that was a mistake. His eyes slid closed involuntarily, overwhelmed by how good she felt. Robin’s hips shifted, thrusting her back onto his cock so that he was half-sheathed within her, and Chrom groaned. His wife always got her victory, in the end.
They fell soon to an almost savage rhythm. Having spent all night being wound up by Robin and then winding her up to a fever pitch in return, Chrom’s self-control finally snapped like a breaking dam. He drove into her with hard, deep thrusts that she matched at every turn, their wild rutting matched by the rocking of the bed itself, the ropes of their bed frame creaking in protest. He tucked a hand under her to play with her clit and was gratified to hear Robin’s excited squeak, muffled as it was into a pillow.
Robin was so wet, snug and hot and soft around him, her inner muscles squeezing at him each time he withdrew, welcoming him back eagerly with each push in. Chrom dimly heard the slap of skin on skin as his hips met hers, though it was hard to hear over the roar of his own blood in his ears. What did cleanly pierce the rush, though, were Robin’s own gasping, high-pitched cries. She was going to come, and soon.
With perhaps the greatest act of self-control Chrom had ever exerted, he slipped out of her cunt and withdrew his hand from her clit.
Robin didn’t even use words—perhaps couldn’t reach them, at this point. She wailed her disappointment instead, waggling her hips at Chrom in reproach. Her hands didn’t move from where he’d placed them, though, except to dart out and make a rude hand gesture at him.
Chrom’s heartbeat pounded through his body, his skin prickling with his own thwarted orgasm as it slipped beyond his grasp. His aching cock pulsed with need for relief. Chrom huffed deep breaths and calmed down, settling into coherency again and watching his wife do the same.
Then, right as Robin seemed primed to gather her thoughts enough to complain, he plunged two fingers into her cunt.
“You are—ah!—y-you’re being so ru-ude tonight!” Robin sang out, panting. She rode his hand shamelessly, bucking back onto his fingers and clenching greedily around them. Chrom swiped at her clit with his thumb just to hear her squeal.
By now, her pussy truly was sopping wet. It made the most wonderfully obscene sounds, small sucking and squelching noises accompanying each thrust of his fingers. He pulled them away too, palming her instead, a cupping touch that he knew would be too broad to be satisfying. Robin squirmed and wiggled and whined, to no avail.
Chrom spent another long moment stroking her. He admired the sway of her breasts, the sweat gleaming on her back, the ribbons and lace on her thighs framing her pussy, the soft moonlight hair spread across their pillows. He fucked her again though never to completion, pulling out every time he felt she was about to come to touch her, play with her clit, keep her riding the edge without allowing her to fall. His own arousal fell to the background, a steady throb that was still present but secondary to his mission: pleasure his wife within an inch of her life.
He drove her relentlessly, until she cussed him out into the pillows and her knees trembled with the effort of supporting her weight and he couldn’t take one more thrust inside her without flying apart. Then, and only then, did Chrom allow himself to spill inside Robin, an insistent hand firmly circling her clit to ensure he took her with him.
Chrom floated back down from the power of his orgasm to find himself fully collapsed on top of his wife, fairly crushing her down into the mattress under his weight. Not that she seemed to mind. When he peeled himself off to flop down beside her instead, she remained face down in the pillows, her hips still canted up. She was breathing like she’d just finished running for miles.
With what appeared to be great effort, Robin managed to turn her head and look at him, only one eye’s baleful glare visible through her hair.
“That was a lot more than tenfold,” she croaked. “You ass.”
Chrom stroked a comforting hand down Robin’s back, unable to keep the good humor that suffused his entire being out of his face. Orgasm had left him sleepy and happy in a dopey sort of way, his limbs pleasantly heavy. He saw his smile affect her, her annoyance warring with her affection, and soon enough she shifted and cuddled into his side. Chrom used the last of his strength to drag the covers up and over the two of them, now that their cooling sweat made them feel the chill of an unusually cold late spring night.
“I hate that I can’t stay mad at you,” Robin grumbled from where she was tucked against his chest. She kissed his nipple tenderly and huddled until she was nearly hidden by the blankets. “Happy birthday, Chrom.”
Chrom curled his arm around her body and hugged her tightly to his side. “Love you,” he sighed. If she responded, it was lost to sleep dragging him under. But that didn’t matter—he knew his Robin was a lovebird, after all.