Work Text:
As soon as you get that text from Zeno, you know he's already on his way to your place.
|Are you awake?
for you? always|
You roll over in bed with a groan, discarding your phone on the nightstand as you go, then head over to the bathroom. Time to take a shower.
You hear the front door opening and the security system being rearmed while you're rinsing the conditioner out of your hair, which pulls a smile out of you. The rest of your routine gets completed in peace, the sounds of Zeno puttering around your kitchen – making himself a drink, no doubt – a nice background for your work. By the time you emerge, the kitchen is empty, the lights turned off, but the balcony door is open.
You walk out with nothing but a silky robe you know Zeno likes peeling you out of and some slippers on, letting the door bang mostly shut behind you so as to avoid getting cigarette smoke inside the house. Zeno's back is to you when you emerge onto the balcony, the light of the moon and the colourful hubbub of city nightlife framing him dramatically like a protagonist out of some pretentious film noir flick, the kind you know he secretly enjoys but will never admit to. His whiskey tumbler – on the rocks – is resting on his left, perched on the balcony railing in a way you've told him a thousand times to stop doing because one of these days he'll knock it over and bash someone's head in. In his right hand, a cigarette is already lit up and smoking merrily while he stares off into the night.
“Hey, handsome,” you greet quietly as you step up to him and wind your arms around his waist. You put your cheek to his back, inhaling deeply as you smell the cigarettes he's been chugging all day, the leather of his coat – discarded on the back of one of your chairs, no doubt – and his incredibly attractive cologne that even this late at night still hasn't faded.
“Hi. Sorry I came so late.”
You snort, splaying your fingers over his pecs through the layers of suit vest and dress shirt, and give them a retaliatory squeeze for the silly apology.
“You always come late,” you tease and press a kiss to his back to show you don't mean anything by it. “I never turn you away, do I?”
And you don't. Never have, not even once.
What you have with Zeno is simple yet so very complicated. He takes care of you – he bought you this place, he bought you a car, he paid off all your debts, he wires you frankly ridiculous amounts of money periodically just in case you wake up one day and want to quit your job out of nowhere. He never asks for anything in return.
You asked him once if he was your sugar daddy – you didn't expect him to get so attached (pussy whipped, your friends would say if you ever told them about Zeno, which you don't plan on doing any time soon) after one night together when you met him at a club, and the sudden, nearly overwhelming showering in gifts and money after only a few weeks of sporadic meetings was surprising and confusing. You asked if he expected sex in return for the gifts, pointing out that you'd already slept with him before knowing he had money. He simply said, “No, I just like taking care of people, being useful. And you deserve it more than most.”
It broke your heart, just a little, but you weren't dumb enough to turn away something like this. You would never take advantage of him or put a price on what you have with him if he decided one day that he's given you enough, but you won't stop him if he wants to keep going either.
Men like Zeno don't come around often.
But that aside, you always like it when he visits. He's not around often – busy being a businessman, whatever the fuck that means – but when he's in town, he always comes over. And he always texts, late at night around midnight, asking if you're awake when you both know damn well that a) you are, b) even if you weren't he'd be welcome to slide into your bed regardless, and c) he's always already a few blocks away when he texts, on his way to your apartment.
You're not his girlfriend. He's not your man. But ever since you met Zeno, you stopped dating, stopped clubbing with the purpose of finding someone to take home, stopped sharing your bed with anyone other than him.
You know the same goes for him too.
“Sometimes I wonder if you should,” Zeno retorts gruffly, lifting his tumbler to his lips to take a sip before he puts his cigarette in his mouth and inhales deeply.
Ah, so it's going to be one of those nights.
You sigh, sad and a bit exasperated that he still hasn't gotten it in his head that he's not going to ruin you just by being in your life, and slip your hands away from his body so you can join him at the railing, threading your arms around his right forearm instead and pulling on it until he turns towards you. His earring glints faintly in the night as moonlight catches on it and the marks on his skin almost seem to glow under the lights of a distant billboard a few buildings away. He's gorgeous.
“I want you here just as much as you want to be here, Z. I'm not a naive teenager who got blinded by the money and the fancy clothes you wear, you know? Give me more credit than that.”
Zeno lets you pluck the cigarette out of his hands and put it out in the ashtray you own solely for his sake, watching you with solemn, heavy eyes that you adore. Everything about him is captivating and you could spend hours, days even, just worshipping his body and showing him how much you care about him if he let you. You peel his glove off his fingers one by one then tug on it gently, careful not to stretch the material – which is unnecessary, since his gloves have been drenched in your saliva and cum and pussy juices more time than you can count, but you like treating him and his things so delicately whenever he lets you indulge. Something tells you he likes it too.
He sighs when you lift his big, heavy yet still so elegant hand up to your cheek and press the palm firmly against your skin, and his breath trembles on the next inhale when you turn your head and kiss that palm, soft and sweet and reverent, before you cradle it to your face.
“You're too good for me,” Zeno mutters, yet he doesn't step away or tear his eyes off of you as you look up at him gently and step closer to him, crowding him up against the railing until your chest is pressed tightly to his.
“I can be better,” you murmur in a sultry tone, lips stretching in a suggestive smirk, as you let go of his hand and start unzipping his pants.
Zeno keeps his hand on your cheek exactly how you left it, fingers twitching against your skin when you reach into his underwear and pull his cock out, starting to fill up as you spit in your palm and give it a few strokes. He moans, tilting his head back and revealing that gorgeous throat you love to mark up, and your grin widens.
“You're so beautiful when you moan for me, Zeno. I love seeing you like this,” you praise, knowing that these moods are your only opportunity to turn the tables on him even slightly when it comes to your sexual dynamic. “You deserve this. You deserve me. There's no one on this earth I'd rather get on my knees for other than you.”
The praise makes his dick twitch in your palm, the tip leaking precum like a faucet, and even though he muffles it through gritted teeth, you can hear the faint whimper that leaves his throat at your words.
You smile sweetly at the reaction, then do exactly as you said, lowering yourself to your knees on the hard, cold tile of your balcony in full view of any of your peeping neighbours and taking Zeno's flushed cock into your mouth. He groans loudly when you envelop his shaft in the warm, velvety cradle of your cheeks, hollowing them out as your tongue caresses the underside of his cock, before you start bobbing your head and laving his cock with your tongue, getting him all nice and wet for you.
“Fuck, darling, you're so good at sucking my cock,” Zeno curses and reaches behind him to grip the edge of the railing for balance, forgetting about the whiskey tumbler he left there and sending it tumbling to the ground when he knocks into it.
You pull off his cock for just a moment to give him a look and say, “Told you so,” before you go back to sucking him off, cupping his balls in your hand and rolling them in your palm while you swirl your tongue around the head.
“Shit! I'll buy you a thousand glasses, baby. Just don't stop. Please keep sucking me just like that.”
As if you had any plans of stopping.
You take Zeno into your throat then, making yourself gag without a care as you fuck your own face using his rock hard shaft, while your hand is still busy playing with those pretty balls you love so much. You know exactly which buttons to push to get Zeno off quickly and he lets you, knowing that he'll be hard again in no time and fuck you properly later. Honestly, even if he didn't you wouldn't care – sometimes, just doing this for him is enough for you.
You feel him tensing under your touch, his breath hitching and his moans getting louder and less controlled as you keep working his cock, and when the shaft gives its first twitch, you take it as deep as it will go into your mouth and let him come down your throat.
You stay there until he stops coming and a few more seconds after that while he calms down and catches his breath. When you pull away from his cock at long last it's messy with saliva and semen so you clean it up with your tongue like a good partner then tuck it back in his pants before getting back to your feet. You wince at the way your knees pop and ache, your body very clearly unhappy with your choice of positions.
Zeno wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into him as soon as you straighten up, supporting your protesting body and looking down at you like you're the best thing since sliced bread. It really tickles a soft spot in you that only he has managed to touch.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, sounding exhausted in a way that goes beyond the physical. You wish he'd tell you what bothers him, show you his demons so you might defeat them for him or at least help him find a way to do it himself, but every time you've tried to reach that part of him he's gently rebuffed you before changing the subject. You can't force him to open up but you hope he knows that you're always ready to let him spill himself into your hands if he wants to.
“Thank me later when you eat my pussy out in bed,” you retort, not liking the idea of him thanking you for a blowjob of all things. “Now, you need a shower and I need to find whiskey tumblers made of silicone or something because I'm pretty sure that one might have actually killed someone.” You point downwards in the vague direction of the ground below, where your very expensive crystal tumbler lies shattered in a million pieces.
Zeno huffs and shakes his head at your blasé attitude but his shoulders visibly loosen and the skin around his eyes grows less tight and tense. Crisis successfully averted, another win for you.
“Is this your subtle way of telling me you hated that blowjob?”
You snort and slap his bicep as you step away from him and tug on his hand to get him moving.
“Trust me, if that was an issue, you would have known. I don't know how you do it, rich boy, but you always smell like roses and rainbows even when it's the middle of the night after a long day of being stuck in that suit.”
“Is hygiene really such a foreign concept to you, darling? I shudder to think what kind of men you associated with before me if so,” Zeno laments but he lets himself be pulled back inside, closing the balcony door behind him and following you into the bathroom as you start setting things out for his shower and the shave you're going to give him when he steps out.
“Filthy animals, Zeno. Absolute beasts,” you declare with affected horror, as if you're traumatised. “That's the only reason I keep you around.”
“And here I thought it was because of my winsome personality.”
“That, too. Though the big cock doesn't hurt your chances either.”
You laugh together at your words while you gently pry his clothes away from him, Zeno looking down at you with a soft expression that you're smart enough not to try to give a name to – you already know; you both do. But things between you are as easy as they are complicated and naming whatever is in Zeno's eyes right now would shatter the careful balance you've established and possibly ruin things altogether.
It's best to leave it alone for now and focus on gently pushing him inside the shower stall and ordering him to get clean while you place an order for takeout and condoms.
One day, maybe he will tell you what that look means and you won't have to pry it out of him with pliers. One day, you might finally know who Zeno is when he isn't barging into your apartment in the middle of the night, seeking some kind of absolution or redemption that you can't possibly understand when you only hold half the pieces to a puzzle he refuses to give you the context for.
One day.
Until then, there's this: semi-public blowjobs on your balcony, light teasing in a bathroom, and a delivery guy who already knows not to ask questions when you have him bring you the same things every time Zeno visits. It's not much, but it's good enough for now.