Work Text:
It was a quiet closing to the day. The kind of Sunday evening wrapped in a golden hush that grants a gentle reprieve before the week begins.
All the evening’s tasks were wrapped up in preparation for the week ahead. The fridge was stocked, the house was clean enough, and you and Zayne were sitting shoulder to shoulder, tucked under his covers as the evening wound down. The room you shared was clean, angular, and orderly. The lamp on his side table softly illuminated his profile along with the pages of his book, his eyes intent on his current bedtime read.
You, however, repositioned yourself as the cool tone light from your phone illuminated your face, opening and closing the same three apps as you scrolled aimlessly on your phone. Nothing was holding your attention, and your legs shifted under the covers yet again as restlessness nipped at your heels. Locking your phone with a disinterested huff from your nose, you tossed it on the mattress in front of you with a soft thump.
Leaning over, you shifted to sit on your heels to rest your chin against the peaceful doctor’s shoulder. Peering at the literature in his hands, you hummed with mild interest before you asked,
“Whatcha readin’?”
“The Neurocognitive Theory of Dreaming.” He answered, his eyes not moving from the page. Letting out an exaggerated huff from your nose, you lean more of your weight onto him.
“Well, aren’t you ever the academic. You don’t even stop working before bed.” You whine.
“I’m not working,” he calmly states. “This is a pleasure read.”
“How is that a pleasure- you’re reading neurocognitive theory. You’re a doctor . That’s basically your work.”
“Sweetheart, I am a cardiac surgeon. Not a neuropsychologist. The two couldn’t be more different.” He remarks as one of his deft fingers flips the page. To your dissatisfaction, his eyes don’t even flicker up from his book. Your brows pinch as your boredom is now paired with budding impatience.
“Can‘t we just haaang outtttt before we go to bed? I don’ want tomorrow to start.”
A cocked eyebrow and a sidelong glance are tossed your way, just long enough to deliver his skepticism.
“We are hanging out.” And he returns to his book. “And whether or not I read this book has no bearing on how quickly tomorrow arrives,” he adds before he nudges his glasses further up his nose with finality.
That does it. The already bare thread of your patience snaps after he’s denied your bid for his attention. He’s unwittingly triggered your brat response, and he’s about to find out he has no choice but to play along.
With the speed and precision of a seasoned hunter, you snatch the book from his hands before he can blink.
“You- don’t be childish!” He admonishes as he tries to snap the book back. Unfortunately for him, you’re already up on your knees, holding it far from his reach.
“You can’t have it! You’re working too hard. The amazing doctor Zayne needs to rest his eyes before his shift in the morning. Can’t have bleary eyes when performing surgery and reading charts! You’re so welcome,” you tease lightheartedly.
He tries to hide a budding smile with a roll of his eyes before wrapping his broad arms around your waist. Peals of laughter ring out as he attempts to wrestle you down to the bed.
“Help! No! You can’t have it! Help, he’s wrestling meeee-ACK!” You shout in mock panic. Shrieks and giggles fill the bedroom that was ever so peaceful just moments ago, and Zayne finds himself caught up in the giddiness of the moment. He clings to you with playful determination while trying to wrangle you into submission. Trying to forego brute force, he takes advantage of your sensitive spots and tickles around the sides of your waist. Strong arms and broad shoulders keep you locked against his chest, and precise fingers keep you at his mercy. He’s got you pinned to him, and there’s no hope for escape. Wriggling and squealing in his grasp, you thrash about to no avail.
“Zay-ACK-NO! Stop-AH! Stop tickling mE-AH!” You yelp out between playful shrieks.
“Only once you surrender the stolen item will I cease your punishment!” He replies. You’re both well aware of your stubborn streak—and he’s ready to match it. And for all the yelping and howling happening on his usually uncreased and clean sheets, you knew he would. Damn him for knowing how ticklish you are, you think to yourself between fighting for air and wild flails of your arms and legs. Your choices are either to return the book or suffer until he wrestles it back. In a last-ditch effort to free yourself from his iron grasp, your hand tangles into the roots of his hair and tug.
A startling broken groan tears from his throat, and you both freeze. After a beat of silence, your surprised eyes meet his wide, panicked ones.
“What was that?” You ask flatly, barely a question.
“Nothing,” he answers too quickly, his cheeks beginning to glow with pink heat. Your eyes narrow with suspicion, and he’s stammering, trying to explain himself.
“I was just surprised, I didn’t-it wasn’t-”
“Did you get turned on by that, Doctor Zayne?” You ask, tone full of mirth, the prestige of his title teasing the contrast to his flustered state.
“ No , it was just an automatic reaction. It was a reflexive response to a pain stimulus! And I told you not to use my title at home-“
“Don’t try to distract me. You did, didn’t you?” You cut him off as a shit-eating grin spreads across your face. The book drops to the bed, forgotten, as it’s no longer the most interesting toy in the room. Drawing a pointer finger up his neck and lifting his chin, your eyes soak in the strawberry flush of his cheeks.
“You really liked that , didn’t you? ”
“No- you listen to me, I-“
More akin to a cornered animal, it seems Zayne has forgotten how to keep calm in high-pressure situations. He shakes his head, no longer able to trust his own voice.
“Okay, well, if it didn’t affect you, baby, you wouldn’t mind if I do it again?” Pink, flustered, and mortified into silence, he merely stares at you, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide. How precious he is like this, you think to yourself. It’s a rare treat to see the usually unshakable man so blatantly flustered.
Seemingly rooted to the spot, he sits frozen as you slide across the bed, perching yourself on his lap. The heat he feels is unbearable; every article of clothing suddenly too warm for comfort. His eyes flutter shut as you drive your nails over his scalp, threading your fingers through the strands. Revelling in the tension, you hold the silence as your eyes wash over his face, his eyes closed as he sits motionless, so helpless to your touch. Gently flexing your fingers, you give his hair a firm tug. His brows knit, breath faltering as a gasp, clipped and throaty, is cut off, suppressing something more wanting and guttural. You watch his Adam’s apple bob before his eyes crack open, shifting to meet yours. His sweet, innocent, vulnerable eyes. You’re admiring his baby deer-like stare when you feel a twitch from under his boxers.
“Is that just a response to stimulus, too?”
Like a predator savoring the hunt, you slowly lean your lips to his warm ear and murmur,
“If you like your hair being pulled, baby, why in the world didn’t you tell me?”
“I- I didn’t-ah, I-“ he clears his throat before he sheepishly tries again. “I…didn’t know.”
Suddenly, the Zayne before you is reminiscent of the bashful kid you grew up with. Stifling a giggle, you cup his cheeks in your palms.
“Well, baby, now that we know, should we have some fun with it?”
He’s speechless, merely staring up through his long lashes at the love of his life, who is now armed with absolutely damning knowledge of his sweet spot. Slowly, he gives a tiny nod. Mischievous giggles ring out as you plant playful kisses all over his warm cheeks. Atta boy, you think to yourself.
The air in the room stirs as you shift tempo, playful pecks giving way to something more deliberate as you drop your lips to the exposed skin at the base of his neck, placing slower, more intentional kisses to his warm skin. Teasingly, you glide your hands down his chest and under his robe to push it off his shoulders. Placing little nips and bites along his skin, you let your hands roam over his defined chest, taking care to brush against his nipples, causing tiny gasps to slip through his lips.
Zayne seems lost, adrift in his submission to the unexpected twist the night has taken. His hands hover over your hips, as if waiting for permission. Granting him an answer, you place them firmly on your waist. The gesture seems to ground him enough, and something in him begins to unfurl. Slowly, his touch deepens, fingers slipping beneath fabric, finding purchase in the heat of your skin. Continuing to grind and touch, your breathing syncs, becoming slower and deeper. His eyes have shifted from sheepish to half-lidded and hazy as he relinquishes control and indulges in the onslaught of arousal. He feels you responding to his quiet submission, each gesture imbued with his trust. No one else has ever seen him unravel this way, and you revel in his bared neck and crumbling resolve. Sweet kisses quickly devolve into loose lips and tongue. His grip tightens at your waist, while you overwhelm him with roaming hands over his chest and teasing fingers over his sensitive nipples. Sharing shaky breaths and body heat, the temperature in the room continues to rise.
In a state of suspended anticipation, his body is as tense as a bowstring pulled taught, ready to snap. As you drop his glasses to the side table, he’s in a doe-eyed trance, waiting for you to do something, anything to take this further. With a soft nip to his bottom lip, you grind the sticky heat between your legs against his length through layers of fabric just barely separating you two.
“Want- to feel you.” He huffs out, his hips giving jaunty ruts up into you to demonstrate his meaning. Lifting your hips, you feel cold in the absence of his body heat before his big hands pull your pajama shorts down and off you. He lifts his hips as you slide his boxers off his body, his robe already pooled beneath him, forgotten on the bed. His chiseled chest is bare and his cock bobs upward once it’s freed, a bead of precum beginning to collect at his tip. Hungrily, you surge forward to resume biting his lips as you grind the wetness between your legs on his now exposed cock. His fingers divot the soft flesh of your hips, and the friction makes your favorite sounds slip out of him - desperate, vulnerable little mewls and whimpers. You break the kiss to hastily lift your pajama shirt, his lips immediately finding a nipple to suck into his warm mouth. His length begins to glisten with slickness the more you glide yourself along it, and he can hardly concentrate amidst the sensations.
“ ’M ready, are you?” You murmur, smiling at his hazy-eyed but eager nodding as you start to line up his tip to your center. Wet from heated anticipation, he begins to plunge into you as you sink onto him. The breach makes you gasp in unison, and Zayne feels his mind go blissfully blank as the heat of your body envelops his over-sensitive length. As your thighs meet his, you stay seated on him for a moment to adjust to his size, and he seizes the opportunity to wrap his arms tight around your ribs and just breathe you in and hold you close. When you’re ready to move, you give him a gentle kiss to his forehead, and he knows to loosen his grip.
As you begin to rock on his lap, your lips are magnetized to his, trading moans into each other's mouths. You drive your nails up his spine, coaxing a shiver as they rake over his flesh, until they weave into the hair at his nape, finding home in his thick, dark locks. Ready to drink in his reaction, your gaze rests on his blissed out face as you begin to tug on his hair at the roots. His open-mouthed groan pours into your hungry mouth, and his eyes, verdant and unfocused, are lost in pleasure. Accentuating his groans, his cock jumps within your walls.
“You like that, baby? When I pull your hair?” The words are slurred with the way you speak against his lips, refusing to part for even a second.
“Mmmn-mhm” comes his husky response.
“Say it. Say you like it.”
Burying his head in the junction of your shoulder, he begs in earnest despite himself.
“I like it. Pull- pull it again, please.”
“Mmmm, of course, anything for my good boy,” you groan, and tug again you did. You’re unsure if it was the praise or the pain that did it, but goosebumps erupt across his upper back. You let one hand release his hair to enjoy running your fingers over the planes of his shoulder blades, delighting in the dimpled flesh as he whines into your shoulder.
“My god, Zayne, you sure are responsive tonight, aren’t you?” And with one hand still tangled in his hair, tug with enough claming force to yank his head back, and pair it with a deliberate, punishing drag of your nails down his back.
“Ggghhh-!” His body jolts as he bows back. The room is spinning for him, senses fraying as he’s reeling, and you delight in his undoing, picking him apart thread by thread. “ Minx,” he growls once the tension in his shoulders subsides.
Seeing him so affected, so sensitive to your ministrations, it gives you a rush that pools straight between your legs. Wet squelching begins to fill the room, and tingles ripple down to the end of his limbs as he feels your slick start to drip down his balls.
“So wet f’me,” he whines, his gaze dropping to where your bodies are connected. “Being inside of you, it’s-“ cut off by his own gasp, a line of frost erupts up the line of his throat. Reflexively, you run your hot tongue along the crystals, melting them to give him reprieve. The warmth of your tongue works to soothe the shock of pain, but his brows stay pinched. The sudden warring sensations are overpowering and leave him breathless, torn apart by surrender and urgency. The dizzying push and pull, both overwhelmed and unraveling, and his fingers dig into the skin of your back, trying to anchor himself, but only spurring you on. He’s flooded by feeling too much at once, and his pleasure starts to rise to a fever pitch.
“You should -nngh- you should stop,” he gasps, “s’too dangerous,” barely getting the words out.
“But I feel safe with you, doctor ,” you huff out between pants, “Always take such good care of me, Zaynie. Let me take care of you. So I can use you to take care of myself.”
He gasps as his hands grasp you harshly under your thighs, frantically trying to lift you.
“Getoffgetoff, I’m goin-! I’m-!”
“No!” you interrupt, and watch his face nearly panic as you pick up speed. “Want you to cum, want you to cum!” Your voice picks up volume to compensate for the wet slapping of skin as your ass harshly bounces off his thighs. “Don’t hold back, baby, you feel how wet I am? Come on, baby, come on!” you groan, “Be good and let yourself cum!”
Mouth parted and eyes rolling back into his skull, you feel his body go rigid as a high-pitched whine peals out, and he twitches inside of you. He spends himself all over your walls while the mad rush of his pulse roars in his ears, deafening out all other sound. If he could hear, he would hear the chants of yes, yes, yes as you bounce on him in victorious ecstasy.
As his high fades, it’s as if he’s a puppet cut from his strings. All at once, the tension is sapped from his body, and he collapses forward, his face burying into your neck. Each huff and pant skims across your collarbone, hot and uneven as he tries to catch his breath.
Smirking, you hook your fingers under his jaw, and you gently but firmly tilt his face up to adorn him with kisses, dotting your lips across the flush on his face. The usually sharp pools of green and gold have a hazy levity to them, a look you hope to see for all the rest of the days of your life.
Kissing him sweetly and squeezing your pelvic muscles, you find he’s still only gone somewhat soft. Fixing him with a curious eyebrow, he responds “You din’ cum yet” with a languid tongue.
“Mmm, you’re right, doctor,” you respond lasciviously, as you begin to grind your pelvis to his. You release his chin and again his head, heavy with exhaustion, drops onto your shoulder. “I think it’s my turn.”
He hums a quiet sound of assent into your neck when big fingers start finding their way between your legs before you bat them away.
“No, baby. You’re going to be a good boy and just take it tonight.” And you begin to massage your own clit, squeezing rhythmically around his length that was never even given the chance to leave your wet heat. Zayne mumbles some sort of protest before you use his hair to tug his head up.
“What was that?”
“I said. You’re trying….mmmnh… to give me an ah-arrhythmia.” Laughter peals out before you drop his head again. The man is fully rag-dolled, his head landing with a soft weight on your shoulder.
“And I think you just wanted to pull my hair again,” he mutters. “Brat.”
“I would deny it, but I was told I should never lie to my doctor.”
Teeth nip at your neck in retaliation, and you feel him smirk at your squeal.
Grinding your walls against his cock buried deep and massaging your clit, you feel your own heart rate skyrocket. The more you get into your pleasure, the more your hips bounce off his again, matching the rhythm of your fingers. You begin to ride him anew, and he’s shamelessly just taking it, pliant and barely hanging on. Pulsing the muscles in your pelvis, you begin to indulge in the sensitivity of your own body now that your attention is turned toward yourself.
“Ah-fuh- aaah-” he whines unabashedly, already one orgasm in and edging on overstimulation.
“Was that- aah - almost a -hah- hah-curse?”
He doesn’t respond, but his open mouth is planted against your warm skin, a pathetic attempt at grounding himself.
“You’re getting a dirty mouth on you, Zaynie. Who taught you this?” You tease.
Suddenly, it’s clear why he was unable to answer- he breaks the silence with a punchy groan, his arms clamping around your waist as he grinds his hips up into yours as a second orgasm tears through his body, hot on the heels of his first. The violent pleasure is locking up all his muscles, only offering him enough breath for tiny whimpered haa- haaaa’ s to squeeze out of him as the high tears through his body.
“ Oh, Zayne-ohhh-ah, Zay-“ and the shock of his orgasm pulls you under with him, drowning you in the surge. The combined releases overflow you, making a slick mess where your bodies connect. Your legs shake as you press down into him to get him as deep as possible as the final waves of pleasure course through you, and both your bodies give out.
He’s awkwardly limp against the bed, his neck at a sharp angle against the headboard, your body spent and sweaty against his. His hands grasp either side of your face, and he tries his damnedest to focus his bleary eyes on your blissed out face.
“You…are not allowed… to pull my hair like that… whenever you want.” He huffs out between heaving breaths.
“Oh, no, baby. I have to keep that in my back pocket. Only when you least expect it.” You wink, and he groans as he releases your face, letting his arms drop limply to the bed while you laugh.
You lift your hips, allowing him to slide out of you with a groan, and you plop back onto your side of the bed. His head lolls to the side to face you, his gaze heavy-lidded and soft. You both bask in the drowsy afterglow with gentle smiles, tracing little constellations on each other's skin with languid fingers as your heartbeats match the quiet hush of the room.
“Hey Zayne?”
“Yes, my love?”
“You can have your book back now.”