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“Asami-“ Amon warns gravelly, that carefully crafted mask of his breaking. It’s not often she hears him flustered. Let alone that unyielding authoritarian presence of his faltering. The only other time was when she first kissed him, when he revealed to her his face in the early hours of the morning in his office. Handsome and completely lacking that scar he fabricated. Gone was the taut and awkward grimace of prosthetics and dried paint, and instead replaced with a rugged and roguish placidness.
She’d been taken by him. Her interest swelling by the second since that night and each visit has only amplified what heat she felt in the pit of her stomach. Her father had noticed the change in her demeanor, but she merely shrugged it off as adrenaline from the movement finally taking off after months - years to those who had been there from the beginning - of preparing for this.
A small noise from the man at her front takes her back to this moment, her hand unrelenting as she pumps him a fraction faster. “Hm?” She hums innocently. She’s studying his reactions to every familiar jerk of her wrist and committing them to memory.
Asami’s usually not the one lording some form of control over him and she relishes this switch.
The hand beside her head tightens against the wall and she glances past sooty lashes into his heated gaze with parted lips. She can’t resist the magnetic pull he has and closes the distance. Even with the uncomfortably thick prosthetic, his lips are still as soft as it is without the facade. “We shouldn’t be doing this-“ He pants out in what seems like a considerable amount of effort. But it’s lackluster at best.
A part of her wants to giggle and manages to stifle it to a mere smile.
She’s heard it before when they made out. When things were moving far too fast. Spirits, she’s even said it when he was two fingers deep into her. Yet it’s even more amusing now with her hand pumping his cock and him hunched over her with a hand clutching at her waist. It’s amusing in a way because he’s typically the one composed, that unshakable mask of his rarely fracturing under pressure.
Who knew all it took was guiding him into a closet with a few hasty kisses and a firm grip on his cock to turn him into a mess that she resembled not even a few days ago.
“Why?” She whispers, the only other sound filling the small closet is his harsh breathing. Asami waits a second, and when he doesn’t respond except that glassy faraway look to his eyes, she smiles. “You didn’t stop when you did it to me,”
He groans, probably at the memory of her fluttering around his fingers and her grasping his hair at the nape.
Asami can feel the fake scar melting onto her skin as he nuzzles her neck, pressing lazy open-mouthed kisses to her fluttering artery as she glances down the small space between them at his cock. It’s thick in her grasp. Even in the dim lighting she quietly marvels at it. Twisting her hand faster over him, Amon’s hips begin thrusting into her palm.
Faster and firmer until the sound of skin softly smacking together surrounds her. They haven’t done much further than this, but she’s familiar with this scenario’s inevitable end from former lovers. However, they were gentle, doting even. Warm and adoring. But this felt uncontrollable. Much more serious and real considering who she’s doing this with. It’s nothing she’s ever experienced before.
Would he be like that with her? Gentle like any newly budding relationship? Or did he revel in the roughness? Quietly, she studies his movements and maybe she’s on the right track with the latter.
Asami senses he’s about to fall off that inebriating edge. Her thoughts draw a blank as she watches him with bated breath. Shockingly, he grows even more rigid and his thrusts grow uncharacteristically frantic. She has to wonder when the last time he’d given into something so selfish as this. In the times she’s been alone with him, he’d never finished. She always assumed he gave into the impulse when she’d leave for the night. Asami thinks further back. In the months her and her father had joined the equalists, she’s never seen him with anyone.
Although, maybe she just wasn't paying attention.
The heat is stifling and a wet need swells at the apex of her thighs. She’s the one offering her attention this time, but even then the force behind his thrusts jolt into her and she can’t stop her imagination running wild or the low moan that escapes her.
“Spirits,” he grunts out tersely before abruptly slowing down. Asami bites her lower lip, squeezing her eyes shut as a muffled whine leaves her. Amon stills and she focuses on the pulsations of his cock that throbs in time to her cunt rippling over, disappointingly, emptiness.
She didn’t think this, of all things, would get her to come. But it did.
They’re catching their breaths and beyond the fuzziness tingling pleasantly through her limbs, belatedly, she realizes the stickiness that meets her fingers. Before she knows it, his lips meet hers in a lazy yet passionate kiss. It’s heady enough that she’s thankful for the wall behind her and his grounding arm around her waist, offering her some support with the hazy afterglow she feels.
Pulling back, Asami glances down at her palm in the dim light. Silently, he fishes out a tissue from a pocket somewhere she couldn’t see. A part of her wants to encourage him to continue this - a salacious giddiness washing over her that she’s never felt before. And while the satisfaction was mutual, the need to have him in her was unbearable. Because really it’s incredibly distracting, that wetness she feels pooled beneath her, but they should be on their way to a meeting by now. The last thing they needed was her father or his Lieutenant discovering them like this.
“So,” she drawls almost shyly as she wipes her fingers clean and he rights his clothing. “Are you needed anywhere urgent tonight?” Asami glances up into icy eyes and there’s a rare glimmer of tenderness mixed with the heat there, her heart pounding with elation.
Clearing his throat, he wipes the faint streaks of pink on her neck with his thumb. ”I have to speak with your father about the mecha tanks and get some things prepared for tomorrow’s strike, but other than that, no.” His voice is quiet as he tucks a stray curl behind her ear.
Asami nods and blindly grasps the infamous mask from the shelf over his shoulder, handing it to him. “Good, I’ll be in your office.” She leaves the closet and hopes to whatever spirits were out there that her father wouldn’t mention why she, surely, was glowing with a newfound bounce in her step.