𝐄𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝙴𝙹𝙰♡︎

Chapter 8: Dinner Contemplations

Jean's eyes fill with an unknown expression. Pride, perhaps? Or maybe a benevolent greed rings beneath his dilating pupils. Whatever this evergreen sense is that brings his face to life unlike ever before, it sticks around as he stares down at the figure beneath him.

With his back smacked against the mattress, Armin grips tightly onto the bedspread beneath. His body writhes against the dominant with every mechanical thrust of skin against skin. There's the pleasure from that, as well as the hand around his cock as it runs up and down tirelessly. He can't speak, can't even think- not when his body is being used like this.

It has only been five or so minutes of this, but already the blonde has been pushed to the point of climaxing, his limbs shaking as the orgasm rolls over him. Jean doesn't stop, not for a second.

He remarks smugly, "hah, that didn't last. Guess you shouldn't have picked both, eh?"

He waits for Armin to respond but nothing comes about. With bold, blue eyes turned away from him and a body focused more on breathing the adrenaline away, he's devoid of any response.

"You're clinging onto me hard, aren't you?" he continues. His eyes stay fixed on Armin throughout every second, eye contact severe; unchanging.

The position in place allows Jean to thrust without moving the blonde at all. His hips stride back and forward in a simple rhythm, one that keeps both of them invested. The roughness of their movements never falters as Jean goes hard and fast with every second. It isn't sex per se, it's more like he's using him. Forcing Armin to do what he wants as he wants it, shoving him in place and rocking him with his body.

The latter man is an uncontrollable mess of sounds, finding himself unable to stop the pleasured noises from escaping. With every stroke in, he mewls and cries out, voice dripping in unbeknownst desperation. After just cumming, this much touch is overkill. His muscles strain, and his body tires, but he can't find the voice to prevent it. This is... incredible.

Armin's senses cloud in ecstasy. It's impossible to feel rational when in a situation like this.

"Fuck..." Jean mutters.

He feels a need inside of him to hear the submissive speak, to beg- to show the pleasure he's in. With that thought, he scratches Armin's hip sharply with his free hand. The air fills with him belting out in surprise and dismay, a yelp of agony.

"You like that?" He baits for an answer, yet it doesn't come. Considering the route of over-zealous humiliation, he adds, "Ah, you look good when you scream. So fuckin' lude."

When his hips thrust forward once more, he leans his head back and exhales.

"You take me in so well. Like a good little submissive."

Jean seems to notice something in the atmosphere; something that forces his gaze on Armin. The sight he receives is baffling. A hard dick pointing upwards once again, and the man showing every sign of enamoured lust. From his gaze averting away, to the passionate blush fawning over his face.

Jean raises a brow. "Oh." Before a thought comes to mind. "You're doing well, aren't you, hmm...? Just how I want. Getting your ass pummeled like you're built for sex. Ah, so disturbing."

The blonde covers his mouth to hold himself back, his eyes shutting firmly.

"What's wrong, pervert? Don't like praise?" he can't hold himself back now. This discovery is too interesting to look away from. Now that he knows this, there's no going back. "That's a shame. You're so good at pleasing me."

"Jean," he laments. "Please..."

"Please what?"

"Don't..." his words are cut off when Jean strokes forward, hitting his prostrate once again. "Ack!"