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Ren swears up and down that he isn’t a pervert.
He makes jokes, sure, and he’s said one too many off-colour comments lately, but he’s not perverted. His friends are pretty, that’s all! He’s only admiring like any sane man would. It’s not his fault that he’s surrounded by goddamn supermodels. It’s not his fault that he’s had experiences with almost every single one of them, which means that⎯ Well. Sometimes, he just can’t help the thoughts.
Scar will make a painfully obvious double entendre and Ren is flashed back to being on his knees, gagging around the vex’s pretty cock. Or Doc will give him one of those knowing looks of his from across the court room, and all that’s spinning in Ren’s poor head is what happened after the last time Doc looked at him like that. Cleo will touch his back to guide him in the right direction and Ren is drooling at the thought of all her toys. He can’t help it.
It’s not like it happens all the time.
Just…
Ren’s always been one of the more susceptible ones on the server. Being a dog hybrid doesn’t help that. He’s sure that he would be tormented by his memories regardless, but he can smell everyone. Distinct scents that make up their person, intermingled together in a way that he can only describe as home. Ren loves it when he has most or all of the Hermits gathered together. It settles him in a way that’s indescribable.
Individually, though, all it does is remind him of certain intimate memories⎯
Ren isn’t afraid to admit that he has a thing for his partner’s scents. It’s one of the best parts of sex. Nothing to get in their way, no barriers of fabric or perfume or artificial scents, simply him and his partner. It’s like staking a claim, to be together in such a way. Ren wouldn’t dream of possessing another Hermit, but he enjoys the fantasy of it all. The idea that any other hybrid with a better sense of smell is going to know exactly who he’s been touching, and vice versa.
His breath hitches as he rocks back.
He’s not a pervert.
His intentions had been entirely pure when he first came over! He genuinely wanted to see False; he still does, though maybe not at this exact moment. Ren simply couldn’t help himself. He’d wandered through False’s pretty base, thoroughly taken in by her amazing builds, and inevitably found himself drifting towards the little circular hut he knew she called her own. From there, is it any wonder that Ren went to the bedroom? Really, he was only following his nose.
False’s scent is so strong here, on her bed.
Concentrated, like liquid ambrosia, cotton and clean linens and fresh mint and something earthier filling the air. He’s practically drunk on it. Ren moans, lifting his hand and pressing False’s shirt over his nose. He’s not a pervert. He’s just…weak-willed. When he saw the state of False’s room, messy, some drawers still open, revealing pretty clothes within⎯ neatly folded button-ups and striped shirts, the kind that False always wears⎯ he’d been unable to resist.
Ren really only meant to grab one of her shirts to put on. A fun little surprise for when False came back, if he didn’t get bored and leave before whenever that was. His visit wasn’t planned, after all, spur-of-the-moment because Ren had missed False that badly. He’s not supposed to be here at all. As soon as her shirt was in his hand, though, Ren had lifted it to his face and smelled, and just like that, he was gone.
Dick twitching in his pants, gaze darting over to the bed.
To False’s pretty, pristine, slightly rumpled covers and pillows.
Embarrassment carves scarlet through him as Ren imagines what she’ll say, if she sees what a sight he’s become. How degenerate he is, how much of a slut he is that he couldn’t keep his hands off himself for longer than two minutes⎯ False is his friend. They haven’t even slept together, not yet. They’ve played together in some group settings, especially with Doc, but never anything alone.
Ren’s always been too afraid to cross that line.
…well, he supposes that it’s been thoroughly crossed now.
A whimper builds in the back of his throat as he continues to rut against False’s pillow. His eyes flutter shut, eyelashes brushing against his cheeks, and he can imagine False in the room. The way that she’d look at him. Blue eyes piercing, cold like ice, narrowed at him in displeasure. Or maybe she’d be pleased⎯ maybe she’d be smirking at him, as if to say that she knew it would only be a matter of time.
Either option feels like too much.
Ren shoves his free hand into his pants, fumbling past his boxers. He’s wet enough that it’s sticky, warm and slick, and his fingers slide clumsily against his cunt. They find purchase against his dick, two wrapping around either side and jerking it off slowly. Ren grinds down against False’s pillow as he does so, having half a mind to get his pants off⎯ His claim would be so much more obvious, then.
Anyone False brought back home would know…
Hell, she isn’t stupid, she’d figure it out long before anyone else.
Ren whines, pressing roughly down onto the pillow. It feels good, offers some semblance of friction and weight against his aching hole. He wants to be filled⎯ wants Cleo’s toys, or Scar’s cock, or any of Doc’s impressive machines. Something. Mostly, he wants False, her firm, painful touch, how her gaze cuts right through him, flayed down to his soul, how stern she is and how she never gives in, regardless of how much he begs.
“Please,” Ren gasps wetly, muffled through the fabric of False’s shirt. “False, Falsie, please, please⎯”
His touch becomes more frantic as he continues to jerk himself off, lost in his imagination. Thoughts and fantasies flash against the back of his eyelids, glimpses of False’s signature blond hair, her pretty eyes, the swell of her breast, and the pink of her lips. Always chapped, a little bit rougher that Ren expects, and yet perfect nonetheless. He’s kissed his friend too many times to count.
He has the shape of False’s lips memorised, truly. The expert way she kisses, how her tongue slides against his as if she wants to consume him from the inside out, how she always tastes of peppermint⎯ Ren moans. Maybe he’s spent too much time remembering how False kisses for them to be just friends, but maybe now isn’t the time to think about that.
Not while he’s riding her pillow without her knowledge, tucked away in her bedroom inside her base, practically begging for her to catch him.
He’s not a pervert, he’s not, he simply loves his friends. He wants to show it, wants to shout to the whole world about just how great every single Hermit is, wants to show his appreciation for their minds just as much as their bodies. Ren drops the hand holding False’s shirt to his face, leaning down and bracing himself against the bed. He presses his face into the mattress itself, right over where False’s shirt has fallen, and ruts furiously against her pillow.
His fantasies have shifted, flickering between memories and fiction, with his friends as the star. He can feel himself, how wet it is, his heartbeat thumping in his ears as the slick sounds echo in the air. Ren’s whole body burns, as if he’s been struck with fever, and he almost feels like it. Half-crazed, mad with arousal, sweat making his skin stick to his pants. He has to stop his frantic movements, just for a moment, and it makes him want to sob. Tears threaten at the corners of his eyes as Ren struggles to kick off his pants.
He doesn’t know why he’d bothered with the stupid skinny jeans⎯
Probably because they made his ass look nice, and he wanted to show off for False.
Ren might not be a pervert, but he’s certainly an attention whore.
Finally, he manages to kick free of the fabric, the pants falling in a crumpled heap somewhere off the side of False’s bed. He returns his attention to what he’d been doing, dick throbbing in his boxers. The momentary break has only made him more desperate, feeling almost edged, torn from his orgasm. Ren shuffles back over to the pillow, straddling it without hesitation.
He moans at the first brush of contact through his boxers.
It feels so much better.
His underwear is wet with his slick, and a small stain spreads across the dark navy fabric of False’s pillowcase as soon as he settles down. Salvia pools in his mouth and Ren barely catches himself before he starts drooling. He grabs frantically for False’s shirt again, bringing it to his nose and breathing in deeply. The scent of cotton and mint fills his nose. Ren can’t help but whimper.
He braces himself against the mattress once more, hips rocking slowly against the pillow. The stuffing is just firm enough that it makes that heat in his belly, his peak slowly rising. Ren has to pause for a moment, reaching between his legs to spread his lips and expose his dick. The head catches against the seam of his boxers and he stifles a groan, gaze darting nervously over to the door.
It’s slightly ajar from where Ren forgot to close it upon entering, and he can feel the way his heartbeat spikes⎯
False could hear him.
She might not suspect anything at first, if she simply popped into her house to grab something and leave. It’s not like Ren trashed the place, after all. He simply wandered through into her bedroom. But if he’s moaning and whimpering her name, False will undoubtedly come to explore what’s making such sounds. She’d find him, half-naked, humping her pillow with desperation, and⎯
‘I wasn’t aware that I’d be having such slutty company today.’
Ren moans, eyes sliding shut as he moves his hips again. He doesn’t bother quieting; if False comes home, he wants her to find him like this. Wants her attention, regardless if it’s negative or positive. Ren is sure that he’d get off on either. He’s pathetic. The thought only makes him burn hotter.
Fabric clings to him, sticky with his own slick, and Ren loses himself in the easy movements of rocking back and forth. It’s not an overwhelming pleasure, but the thrill of it is enticing. He can see the stain, the claim that he’s making on False, spreading further the more that he moves. It’s addictive.
Ren’s fingers curl into the sheet over the mattress as he gets closer and closer to the edge⎯
‘You’re a whore, aren’t you, mutt?’
‘Like a mindless dog, just humping at whatever’s closest⎯ Void, you’re so pathetic.’
‘Yeah, go on, just like that, this pillow is all that you’ll ever really get to fuck, anyway.’
The False in his head is cruel, and Ren doesn’t want her any other way.
He can’t resist, unable to take it any longer. He shoves his hand back into his boxers, finding his dick with ease. It doesn’t take long for him to find a rhythm, stroking himself in time with his thrusts against the pillow. Soon enough, he feels that tight knot of pleasure in his stomach burst, and a hoarse cry falls from his lips⎯
“False, hnn, please,” Ren whines weakly, pressing his sweaty forehead against the mattress. Absently, he jerks himself off lightly through the aftershocks, his legs twitching as he lies there. His whole body feels like jelly, his hand sticky as he pulls it free from between his thighs, and the air smells like sex.
Ren dreads the thought of cleanup.
He can’t let False actually discover what he’s done, after all.
It’s a violation of privacy. It’s, honestly, kind of gross. Even if False had been completely okay with it, he’d still feel obliged to clean everything up. As it stands… It’s exactly the kind of thing that a pervert would do, no matter how reluctant he is to admit it.
“Huh. Didn’t know you were supposed to visit today, Ren.”
Every muscle in his body tenses.
Surely that’s just a…hallucination.
Slowly, so slowly, Ren turns his head from where it’s pressed against the bed to the side, so his cheek is smashed against the mattress. To his horror, a familiar blond stands in the doorway to her bedroom, arms crossed over her chest. False raises an eyebrow when their gazes meet, eyes that same familiar icy blue. His imagination couldn’t do her justice. She’s much prettier than anything he could conjure up.
Ren swallows, mouth dry.
“Seems to me like a punishment is in order, hmm, pup?” False’s voice is smooth, rich. His aching body groans in protest at him, but there’s no other possible answer for Ren. He’d practically invited this trouble in on himself, anyway.
“Yes, please.”
False smirks.
⎯end.