Chapter Text
Yor is a sight to behold, splayed and naked against black leather. She is cradled by plush cuboid cushions, and the sunset from the French window backlights her in golden, ethereal light and shadow.
She is a sleek and aesthetic visage, just like the armchair in which she sits: le Corbusier LC2, the “Cushions Basket”.
The minimalist furniture alluding to what one would only hope to recline into at a posh gentlemen's establishment. Twilight grins privately to himself, unknowing but unquestioning as to how WISE had allowed him to spend the organization’s money on such a perverse set of seating.
Nonetheless, it has served the Forgers well for almost two years.
The act in which they’re engaging now mimics perfectly the designer’s intention of this furniture: Twilight is placing Yor’s most basic needs at the forefront of his mind, elevating their time together as a form of indulgent comfort and relaxation.
His wife looks forward to this act any time they have scant minutes alone together, as does he. Besides sharing a bed and exploring each other with hands alone, this form of romance is easily their second, usually more …discreet, type of tryst.
Aren’t they just lucky, then, that their daughter is on a week-long camping trip sponsored by Eden College?
Twilight considers himself especially lucky as Yor’s fingers thread his hair and yank him forward, ushering his face between her thighs.
“I can hear you overthinking from here, darling. Please, focus,” she chastises with a smug grin.
She has no right looking like such royalty in her state of undress: black silk fluidly framing her fair face and full breasts, elbows propped on the plush arms and casting hooded eyes down at him - the picture of supremacy and power.
Twilight smirks back at her, pressing a kiss to her spread thigh.
“Yes, darling.”
Her work uniform and usual headband lay crumpled somewhere in the threshold of their living room. He had been all too enthused to strip his wife of her civilian clothing and anoint her a queen on this cushy throne, thrilled to establish a very high expectation for their week alone together merely as adults, and not just parents.
Quite simply, he loves seeing Yor in this decadently unadorned state, uncaring for the status of his own nudity as he had ushered her towards the armchair.
From anyone else, Twilight would consider this comment as condescending, like a teacher berating her student for daydreaming in class. However, from a capable and deadly woman such as Garden’s Thorn Princess herself, whose thighs could well and fully snap his neck if she so wished, it is a sweet beckoning for him to continue, to give over his duty as a spy for this moment and enjoy his lover - and in turn bring her pleasure.
He should hope that spousal homicide would put a damper on her arousal, seeing as how his mouth is currently servicing her womanhood while he kneels, fully clothed and utterly held in place by one proud leg tucked against his back, her other thigh spread and foot flat on the carpet. The angle allows such a brilliant offering of her pussy to him.
Surely, keeping her cover as a housewife would sway her against it. Twilight would hope that his enthusiasm sways her interest, at the very least.
Ensuring just that, he laps at her core, lathering her in the very essence of her own arousal. His tongue swipes higher, flicking at her raised bundle of nerves before drawing it into his mouth. No matter how many times this simple act unravels between them, Yor’s hiccuping moan and sigh at having her flesh sucked always burns through his ego; he wants to hear it again, and again, and again.
“J-just like that, Loi- aahn - don’t stop!”
If his lips were not preoccupied, he would reply with some remark about he wouldn’t dream of stopping, though, the idea of teasing Thorn Princess out of his precious wife is enthralling in its own right - dancing with death and needles and blood. It is a side they rarely explore, preferring softer, intimate and leisurely concupiscence at home. Business can only rear its head so often before it throws off their work-life balance.
Twilight heeds her instruction, unrelenting even as his fingers sink inside her: introducing a fullness they both have learned gets her off infinitely satisfactorily when partnered with generous clitoral stimulation.
He receives cooing moans of approval: noises usually pillowed by their hands or their bedding if and when they succumb to sex after bidding their daughter goodnight.
He intends to make excellent use of their privacy to fully drown himself in her rambling sounds of arousal - he'll deal with any complaints from his neighbors at a different time. At least the rumor in their gossip mill will not consist of him being an inattentive husband any longer.
Of course, he’s cleared those hurdles long ago with frequent family outings and public, romantic dates with his wife.
In coming to know Yor Briar Forger, Twilight is endlessly surprised by her qualities: her mastery of hand to hand and armed combat, her brute force, and her surprisingly high tolerance to poisons - and surprisingly low tolerance to alcohol.
She’s reliable for accomplishing any task asked of her, including playing the protective, patient role of mother to Anya, and keeping the Forger household spotless. She can do it all - besides cooking, but she has a husband capable of such chores, and he does well to keep them all fed and happy. It is one domestic action Twilight especially loves in his role of Loid Forger: fulfilling his family in this long-form act of playing house.
His motivations, however, have lost sight of his initial assignment. His family has become his top priority, and his personas - well, his WISE-assigned alias, Twilight, and mission-designated Loid Forger - have fused to become one clandestine man: one who abides by and flexes with his surroundings and becomes what is needed of him, dependent on the circumstance.
He is a social chameleon, except in moments like these, where he can shed his mask at home and simply be. He is committing this act with Yor as a devoted and married man, a man who has found love and revels in it.
He revels in her, manipulating her insides to pleasurable heights while her excitement drips down his wrist and onto expensive leather. He could not give a flying fuck, especially when his wife is so skilled at upheaving stains. She succumbs beautifully to the pleasure they both seek.
Twilight is just delighted in having his hands on her - wide palm pressing against her spread thigh while the other continues pumping into her in patient strokes that accompanies the tongue teasing her folds. In his periphery he can see the gold glinting off of his left ring finger and his ego preens, sated in participating in married life - and in marital acts - with this woman.
“Loid, da - ahh - darling, I’m-!” She gasps quietly, hips thrashing under his consistent ministrations.
Twilight is uncaring of what Yor calls him when they are together - however, perhaps like this, he will adopt Loid Forger for his own. He quite likes hearing the name rambled from her lips in this context.
His thoughts dissipate as the foot on his back urges him close to her body, thighs quaking in the wake of her impending completion. Her own hands roam her stomach and legs, the genuine diamond and gold winking at him from her ring finger as her walls convulse around his digits. He makes sure to prolong her bliss with swiping tongue and deep, stroking fingers.
The tail-end of her climax is paired with feathery moans as she comes down, fully gratified and pliant. Every taught muscle falls loose, and she reclines, boneless and unclothed in her respite.
It doesn’t take long for her to catch her breath, however. Inhumanly, she possesses one hell of a recovery time, and Yor takes full advantage of it in their sex life.
The hungry and predatory look she sends him - sharp, even through hooded eyes - elicits zaps of electricity down his spine. His neck hair stands on end as she sits up, looming over him and cupping his chin in delight.
In hindsight, Twilight should have prepared for this - but even he has blind spots in the form of his little family.
“What a way to be welcomed home from work. Take me to bed, Loid. I’m not done greeting my husband just yet.”