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The doors slid open with a hiss, and your head snapped up from the page you were reading on the hybrid common room couch, waiting for the kids to come back from their recess outside. It was hot out on the island today, and unlike the hybrids, the heat bothered you, so you preferred to have your peace and quiet inside while you could. You'd expected to see the hybrids with Dame and Arthur, but you instead looked up to see with a happy spring in his step-
"You won't believe what the day has brought me today," he started, already displaying that theatrical boyish demeanor that made your shoulders sag. You were no stranger to how he acted, being subjected to it during meetings whenever you had to spectate, nothing to do but watch him essentially do everything he could to simultaneously flaunt his control and piss off everyone in the room.
He wasn't terribly personal with you, not interacting with him very often, you knew everything about him because he flaunted it, as well as being required to know certain things being his employee and all, while he knew you by face and by proxy, oftentimes having you, Kirsh, or Atom stand in for things whenever he couldn't be bothered to show up and deal with people. His little pawn to call upon and perform at his beck and call. A more degrading job than you'd like. For now, all you could do was close your book, sit up a bit, smile, and put on your best behavior until the storm that was Kavalier blew over. And it was approaching. Quickly
"And what would that be?" you answered, your eyes locked on his as he drew closer.
He grinned, flopping down with a loud sigh on the spot next to you, robe pooling around him like water, and you could feel the heat of him from how close he was to you, and he knew it too. Knew that he was just close enough for it to bother you, more likely than not taking satisfaction from it.
"Well," he started, propping himself up on his elbow, purposefully stretching out with a loud groan, "I managed to close a deal on the hybrids." This made you arch a brow, retorting flatly, "you mean Kirsh or Atom or whoever managed to close a deal on the hybrids." This made his eyes light up, the rare occasion where his employee dared to nip at the hand that payed them. It wasn't the intellectual stimulation that he craved by any means, but he enjoyed the intervals of moxie that some people provided him. If ever. He sat up in a flash, pulling you up by your arm a bit more harshly than you thought he could muster, wrenching you close, speaking in a more playfully hushed tone, "What's that supposed to mean?"
Even this early into it you were losing your patience, sighing out of your nose with a bit more attitude than you intended, which he noticed, his eyes boring into yours. "I mean, I know you," you stated, "well enough that you're not one to close your own deals." His brows went up at that, a quirk of his lip briefly ghosting his face when you added, with quite a bit of a tone," I'm surprised that I wasn't the one doing it for you myself today."
You didn't realize your little slip-up until he did a little soft exaggerated gasp, "ooh," his brows shooting up for a split second, followed by a ghost of an elated grin, his hand tightening on your arm that made your stomach drop, adding a tight-lipped, "sir." A weak try to cover up that severe, acutely hot-blooded display, and you both knew what it was the second the words left your lips.
Jealousy.
Childish jealousy. Hidden under wraps you would consider pretty well, but your cheap boast got the best of you, letting the one person you didn't want knowing slip a peek. And to your dismay, he loved what he saw, his hand on your arm sliding to splay his fingers along the middle of your spine, his grin widening as his other hand snaked to your hip, too close to your lower back. He knew it was due to his hands still being a bit cold, and he relished the shiver that racked your body, the tremble beneath his fingers.
He inhales, deep to conceal the tiniest groan that threatened to flow from some deep part of his chest, drawling, "I could tell you meant that," and ever so lightly, in tandem with his coos, he squeezes. God, that smugness he gains when you jolt in his grasp, burning in his eyes and behind his voice, made you want to slap him. Hard. Until he bled. You only give a displeased grunt in response, brows furrowed, and the look is only fuel for Boy Kavalier.
His hold on your lower back tightens, insistently and with surprising strength, purring "But don't you worry, honey," pressing you forward with enough force to bend, forcing your hips to meet fully flush against his. The hand he has planted on the base of your spine presses to hold your chest against his, watching the way your face contorts, brows straining as you mentally try to keep up, a startled gasp once he starts to move your body with his.
The front of your body never leaves his; he moves you into a dip, "It's all in the things you don't say." And smoothly at that, like both bodies had muscle memory of the action. You feel hot shame crawl down your spine and past your stomach at the guilty thought, and it forms in a wetness in your underwear when he winks at you from your clawing at his shoulders to keep yourself steady. There's a lot that races through your mind as he stares down at you, your chest pressing into his enough to send tingles through you every time you take a breath.
He's warm.
Dizzyingly warm.
It's when he presses harder, squeezes harder, leans forward, making sure to stop when his lips are millimeters apart, his warm breath fanning across your mouth. Gone was the grin he sported before, a silent face studies yours, taking in everything before him, whether feel or sight, and he suddenly doesn't look so boyish anymore. Now more like the young man he is. One that wants. One that needs and feels, and he feels so much bigger against you now, a solid body against yours that contrasts your weaker state, still feeling a bit stunted under him from the way you're forced to cling to him.
More heat blooms, dripping in your core down into your toes, and you're begging he can't feel the soft, hot pulse that feels like a storm forming between your legs. Your breath shakes, eyes widening as his rove over your face, and your heart rams inside your chest, which you know he can feel, and you mentally curse yourself when your eyes drift down to his lips, knowing he saw.
You could leave if you wanted. You were sure of it. You could say no, and you were sure he would listen. He wasn't a monster of that degree, wielding his power over others in a different way, yet here you stayed, willingly in his hold. Skin prickling from the way he squeezed, pulling a soft sigh from you when his hand started to gently rub back and forth on your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer.
So soft his hand moved, back and forth, back and forth, and you involuntarily melted against him, letting his body heat loosen the tenseness in your body like he untyed a knot in your body only he knew was there. The sound he draws out of you when his face travels, nudging his nose into your neck and inhaling, letting out a low groan that tickles your skin with its heat, electricity bolting straight between your legs, and you fight the urge to wrap a leg around him.
It comes out broken, weak, utterly helpless, "Sir?"
He huffs, a hideously conceited crinkle in his eyes that makes you really feel like it was a mistake, to admit to the the Boy Genius that he's having an affect on you. It makes you feel so thrilled and yet so sick to your stomach. It's a sick secret wish of yours. That he'll give you his full attention, keep touching you like this, keep holding you close. And you swear, maybe you're imagining it- there's something pressing into your-
"God, I am the richest-" he shouts, his hands lifting and abruptly hoisting you off your feet, and you're forced to clutch at his shoulders,"richest man, God, honey", he spouts into the crook of your neck. Your legs swing as he twirls you in a circle. He's holding you by your hips, and it's such an exhilarating feeling that you surprise yourself with the loud, raw laugh that bubbles out of you. It's an adrenaline rush when you do it-you can't help it, but you know that's probably what he was searching for- to be able to coax it out. And it's knocked out of you when he flops you down on the couch, hard enough to shock you but not hurt, and that innocent moment dissipates like flicking on a light. Gone.
He breathes it, "God, you have no idea."
He's hovering over you for a brief second before he has his full weight on you, and his fingers start poking and prodding at your sides, incessant and aggressive. He doesn't even need to have your arms pinned; you can't move and he made sure of it, tickling you to his heart's desire while you squirm and writhe underneath, screaming and laughing in protest. He's laughing, watching you twitch as his fingers press into your ribs and the soft flesh of your waist, watching your grin widen to the point of your face hurting, your shrieks growing louder.
Soon, you're panting under him, red in the face, floundering under him like a fish in a net, and he can only love it, watching the way your eyes squeeze open and close, the way your skin prickles, the way your chest moves with laughter, teeth flashing at him. "Stop, oh my god, stop!" you squeal, grabbing at any part of him you can get a hold on, pushing at his thighs, chest, anything, praying he'd let up.
He doesn't.
His lips latch on your neck, leaving little nips at your flesh, prying out a strangled noise from your throat mixed with laughter; foreign to you as he goes lower, leaving a trail of pure heat against your skin as his fingers continue their ministrations on your sides.
"Wait, wait!" you stutter, laughing, "wait!"
It was accidental, the way your hips push up into his, a last resort to get his weight off of you. Little did you know was that in the heat of the moment it would cause a spark of pure need. There's a loud, guttural noise, and your eyes snap to attention, the most embarrassing part of it is being you don't even know who it came from, a forming weight in your chest that feels like a like of bricks landed on you.
It's quiet after, only broken by the rush of blood ringing in your ears and the sound of ragged panting as you look at each other. You're struggling to understand whats happening and what it is you're feeling when it hits you- you didn't imagine it. There's something pressing into your pelvis, and your eyes flit down down for a second before your name falling from his lips makes you hone back in, and he smirks knowing he caught you red-handed sneaking a guilty peek.
"Honey, you have no idea."
This time, the nickname drags the tiniest little pathetic breath from you, the heat in your core becoming more and more unbearable by the second, your underwear noticeably sticky and uncomfortable, making your brows furrow. The weight on top of you feels good now, compared to its previous caging feeling, and you feel guilty for wanting more, just barely moving your hips before he moves for you. His hand slides up your thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and you can't tell if it's from the touch or his unwavering gaze that shoots straight to your core. Sliding up, he shifts his hips up a bit, leaving just enough room to pull your thigh out from underneath and hook it around his hips.
This is your chance and you take it, using the leverage to flip him underneath you, and he grunts when his back his the couch, grinning. It's contagious and you grin back, huffing between giggles, "Really? You're gonna fucking tickle me?" As if to just make sure he's getting under your skin, he laughs, hands flying back to your sides to wrench more laughter from you as your body tries to arch away, your hands grabbing at his to try and keep him at bay.
With enough strength, you finally manage to pull his wrists away just enough to find relief before he flips you back over, pinning you with his hips again and restraining your wrists with one hand, that grin ever-present. He only laughs as you struggle underneath him, relishing the sight of you gritting your teeth in your effort, "Fucking," and he leans in close to your face, licking a hot stripe up your cheek. It makes your eyes briefly squeeze shut at the sensation, nearly screaming before you twist your hands out of his hold shoving his unrelenting hands away and-
Crack
You freeze.
Never in your life did you ever expect to wind up full-strength slapping Boy Kavalier across his fucking face. Neither did he. For once, someone had been able to render him speechless. A pin could drop, and it would hit like thunder rattling in the room compared to the stomach-dropping silence that engulfed it.
Your arms are hovering, and you don't know what to do. You can't tell what he's thinking, terrified that you've made him mad. He's going to fire you. Send you home. Or maybe toss you into some deep hole where no one will ever find you as punishment. Then he'll throw away the hole. He's completely silent, this unreadable look etched on his face, and he's just... staring. It makes your heart pound.
It takes a few tries, your throat working against sudden dryness while your eyes dart between his. He's smiling, and it's embarrassing the way it makes you briefly mimic. You shouldn't want this; you're supposed to be professional, keep a straight face, do what you're told. Having him on top of you like this feels better than it should; the solid warm press of him is clouding your judgement. You're not thinking straight, and you both know it when he tilts his head. He's waiting. "I-I-don't-" you breathe, your voice cracking, followed by a small noise, "I don't-"
"Then don't, honey," he grins, his soft breath fanning over your lips, leaving tingles in its wake on your skin, "this is the first time you've snapped- and I mean really snapped."
He hums, and you watch him tilting his head, sparing a shameless glance at your lips, and his eyes flit back to yours in an unspoken question. "I just didn't think it would look this good."
Hands. They come up your sides, squeezing the fat of your hips, and he lets you hook a leg around his hips when he leans closer, closing the space between you. His lips are smooth, his chest presses against yours, and he's still so warm, even when his robes envelop you. It shoots tingles all the way down to your toes as your other leg comes to rest around him.
Kavalier chuckles when he fully presses his length into the seam of your legs, your aroused pulse fueling to a roar and you moan weakly when he kisses you harder, body going lax under him. One of his hands slides up the base of your throat, resting for a moment between kisses before it grasps at your jaw, holding firm, but not enough to hurt, and it has your mind narrow down to him. Only him. His warm hand tips your head to the side, kissing and nipping at your neck, maneuvering you into the kiss the way he deems fit. A shudder wracks through you at the sensation, and when your hips buck up into his, you feel his chuckle reverberate against your chest while you're softly panting moans in his ear, and god, he's so hard.
After a point, you've had enough. You're nearly dripping, grabbing at his shoulders, pulling him, insistently wanting to have his face up with yours, and he seems quite content with taking his time with the soft skin of your neck, but obliges to your little pleas, slowly coming up to your level. He isn't there for two seconds when you pull him down, practically devouring him with a greedy kiss, grinding your hips up into his, and this time, you pull a noise from him. It goes straight to your head, an eager hand only pulling him harder by the back of his neck, and you enthusiastically swipe your tongue across his bottom lip in sync with a soft, keen moan into his mouth that jumbles his thoughts.
Once again, he indulges you, letting you roll your hips up into him in a tantalizingly slow rhythm, and he works to match it with his mouth, winding his tongue against yours, the wet sound of lips parting making your ears burn. Your legs are locked tight around him, holding him close to grind your hips into him with an aggression that surprises even the Boy Genius. It's when you grip his neck, letting out a particularly filthy moan into his mouth, that he decides to stop despite your ability to make his head swim like he's nearly drunk, pulling back despite his body screaming in protest at the intense, angry throbbing that feels everywhere under his skin. You let out a particularly displeased sound when he pulls away, and he almost feels pity.
There's a string of spit when he leans back to hover above you, punching a gasp out of you at the sight, and he flashes a smile that feels so obscene to you, but a bit too tight for his liking, too prideful to admit he'd take you then and there if it weren't in the common room. He'd rather have to all to himself in the control of his own quarters, have your touches, sighs, everything, all to himself. With hidden reluctance, he slowly sits up, watching the way you gape at him, mouth open, wide-eyed, as he lowers your thighs from around him, crawling off of you. When his feet hit the floor, the look on your face nearly makes his heart clench from how pathetic it is.
"Aww," he coos down at you, "I know, honey, I'm sorry." He starts to walk past you, soaking in the way your eyes start to water as you twist on the couch to keep him in your line of view, still subjected to the rush of adrenaline that he knows he gave you. The inhale you take is sharp, chest trembling. You want to scream at the fucker. Getting you into the most disheveled state at his hand, just to smugly snatch it out from underneath you. You're about to open your mouth, give that bastard what for, maybe even get in a good punch in the jaw if you can, when he walks back to you, leaning down to hastily grab you by the jaw and drag you into a rough kiss that you don't expect.
Eagerly, you lean into his touch, but after maybe five seconds, by the time you move to lace your fingers into his hair, he pulls back, and you think he's going to leave. The longer he stares, the more he seems to have changed his mind, and then leans back to give you a last chaste kiss before he straightens up and walks off. With a sigh, you let your eyes close, your head falling back against the cushion while you prepare to ride out the feeling buzzing under your skin until the hybrids come back when Kavalier's voice makes your eyes snap back open, smiling at the words.
"My room. Ten minutes."