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You know he’ll be gone in the morning, but oh, do you love him so.
Good company is sparse on the docks of Bilgewater, so most days you keep to yourself, wrapped in a haze of cigar smoke and pheromones. You’ll wake in the afternoon, still dizzy and faint from the night before, only to find him missing again. You’ll curse his name and wonder why you stay, but each night he returns to you, still as feral as the night before.
You don’t much care for cigars yourself, but you love the dry taste they leave in his mouth. You taste them every night as he devours you, grasping the body you never bother to clothe, leaving fingerprint bruises that never seem to heal. Some days he smells like whiskey; other days, blood. But you give in to him all the same.
Every night is a little more torturous than the one before. His large hands are calloused and rough, and though oftentimes you’re still slick from the last romp, it still hurts when his fingers find their way into your body. It hurts, but you like it, and the unconscious moans that escape your mouth tell him so.
He’ll pull you into his lap as he works you loose, so that you find your face pressed into his chest. He’s built like a cannon and you like him that way. His burly chest is warm, and though you’re not scrawny yourself, you still feel small compared to him. Vulnerable, yet protected. You’ll busy yourself as his fingers continue to push and spread and pull you apart one motion at a time; one arm around his neck and the other trapped between you, you’ll start to stroke him, content to listen to the soft sighs that breeze past his lips. It’s all a dance, and you’re just warming up.
Sometimes he’ll talk to you while it’s still quiet, whispering your given name and kissing your neck. Those nights are always your favorites, because you can laugh freely when his bushy mustache tickles you, and he kisses you furiously in response. It keeps you going for the darker nights, when you can’t taste his cigars and the smell of copper overwhelms your senses and it doesn’t seem to matter to him whether it’s you or someone else he’s fucking. But those times are few and far between so you figure you’ll let them slide, and it’s not as if you’ve never treated him poorly before anyhow. That one time he found you in bed with the Shadow Isles girl still messes him up. Tonight’s one of the good nights though, so you listen to his husky voice whisper your name as your fingers get slick against his skin.
He grunts and gives one last push with his fingers before removing them from you. His hands are slippery and warm as they grasp you, lifting you up by your thighs and nudging you with his shoulder. You move your arm at the nudge, instead wrapping it around his neck to join the other one. You steady your breathing, and he carefully lowers you down onto slick cock.
He’s just as thick as you remember from the night before. You spread your legs to either side of him, clenching his waist with your knees, and you move.
F u c k.
He’s so deep inside you already, but you know his length, and you know you’re not even halfway down on him. You raise yourself up and lower yourself back down slowly, listening to the small, contented grunts he makes. Normally you tease him about this, telling him he sounds like a hog in mud, but those comments are for the nights you want to rile him up.
For now, you’re content. You thrust a little faster now, slamming yourself down on him, and God he’s so thick, you can almost reach that bundle of nerves inside of you—
“…’issed you.”
You’re so enraptured with how big he is that you almost don’t hear him, voice low and dim. You twist where you are, laying your head against his shoulder as you bear down on him, listening to the sharp breath he takes in. His large hands squeeze your ass, and you tighten your arms around his shoulders in response.
“…missed me?”
“Missed you.”
“Hmm.”
That’s all you both say, for a while. You twist a little more until you find that sweet spot, grinding down on him, grasping his shoulders desperately as his nails dig into your skin. You’re aching to be touched but say nothing, instead preferring to be hyperattentive to every little thing he does: a twist that way, a small grunt, riding him with a thrust of your hips—ahh, that was the moan you were looking for. Your thighs are dripping now as you bring yourself up and drop yourself back down, and you can’t tell whether it’s from him or from you.
“Tobias…”
He’s speaking again, so you bring your face close to his, clinging to his neck and willing yourself to listen. You aren’t very loud in bed most of the time because you enjoy the sounds he makes too much; you get off on them, hearing him moan, hearing the shuttering breaths he takes as he thrusts up when you go down. Your silence doesn’t mean you’re not enjoying yourself—quite the opposite, actually—and for the most part, he understands that. He probably doesn’t understand how much you enjoy it, though, and how much effort it takes to concentrate on anything other than the rocking motions of his body and the feeling of the head of his cock ribbing against your insides. Your eyes are practically crossing at the moment, but you concentrate, and you listen.
“Mmm…?”
“Tobias, Tobias…”
He takes your waist, and this time as you grunt and go down on him, he slams you down even harder. You let your head roll back because fuck you’re seeing stars, but one of his hands slides up your back to cradle your neck, pulling you back down again. His mouth is hot and wet as he brushes it against yours, kissing you softly once, then twice, before pushing his tongue past your lips. You’re reeling, and you’re sure you’re probably drooling a bit but you don’t really care as his tongue laps at yours. He tilts his head back, running the tip of his tongue across the roof of your mouth, sending you into a fit of shivers before devouring you again. Your entire body is trembling now, and you’re so close to finishing and you want him to touch you so badly. Your knees are in a death grasp around his waist, probably bruising him where he hadn’t healed the night before, and you’re just bouncing now, your movements sloppy and pointless. You’re a mess, and he knows it.
“M-Ma… Malcolm… Malcolm, please...”
The words came out in a whimper, and you feel pathetic, and you’re almost crying, but he hushes you softly.
“You want it?” he whispers back, stroking your long hair, and you can only nod. He nods back, his breath warm as he kisses you one last time. “If you wish.”
The gentle hand on the back of your neck grips you tightly, and he’s got a fistful of your hair as he wrenches you down onto the bed. Suddenly the soft kisses and words are gone as he spreads your legs and pulls you, hard, into his body. He keeps one hand on your thigh as the other thankfully finds a death grip on the mattress, anchoring himself as he pounds into you. A gurgling scream escapes your throat, almost choking you, and you want it to stay down but he’s telling you to let it out, just let it out, let me hear your voice Tobias, tell me how much you want this. You’re already in tears so you let yourself cry, throwing your arms up and begging him to hold you, grateful when he complies so you can grasp at him when he leans down.
He’s relentless as he slams into you, rocking back and forth and jarring the cracked headboard of the bed against the wall. There are already dents in the wood from where he’d taken you the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that… you’ll have to pay for the damage eventually, and you’re wondering if you shouldn’t just find some dingy place for you two to shack up in permanently. The thought has occurred to you many, many times, but you imagine he’d laugh in your face if you suggested being domestic, just as you’d laughed at yourself when you’d thought of it.
Then again, maybe—just maybe—you could get him to stay in the mornings if he knew he’d always have a place to return to.
You’re knocked out of your thoughts with a particularly solid thrust, and as you arch your back unwittingly, he lets go of your thigh to finally—finally—grab your aching, neglected cock. Just with his touch, the hot swelling feeling in the pit of your stomach is instantaneous, and you’re pretty sure you draw blood as your nails tear into his back.
“M-Malcolm, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna—”
He slides his hand up your length with a well-timed thrust, and for a moment you think you might black out as hot, slippery liquid spurts from you in bursts, coating your chest and his hands and the sheets and pretty much damn near everything. Your entire body clenches with the action, and a moment later you can feel him release inside you, warm and steady. He collapses onto you and stays there even as you protest.
“Aww, what the fuck Graves, that’s disgustin’—”
“Shut it, Fate.”
You stare up at the ceiling, nose wrinkling slightly that you both had reverted back to your old banter, but you supposed that was your fault. You give up, raising a shaking hand and lowering it back down into his shock of dark hair, sweaty now with all the effort. You pat his head thoughtfully, stroking his head and his cheek and the edges of his beard every once in a while. You’re kind of disgusted that he actually chose to lay in a puddle of sweat and semen, but in a weird way, kind of flattered.
Everything’s starting to dry, the haze of sex still hanging thick in the air, when he finally moves. Your blood runs cold for a moment, because you’re suddenly terrified that he’ll get up and leave you, but your heart pounds when he lays next to you instead. You lift your head tentatively, and he slides his bulky arm underneath it, pulling you close.
“…I missed ya, Tobias.”
“Yeah. Missed you too, Malcolm.”
You stay awake long enough to hear his breathing slow. He’s horrendous when he snores, but you think it’s kinda cute, too. You close your eyes only after you feel him fall. You know he’ll be gone in the morning, but for now, you sleep.
Oh, do you love him so.