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Julian is a handsome man. Sharp nose, perfectly curled locks, soft skin that looked even softer when flushed. The elegant way in which his brow arched with amusement, and the way his hands moved with the self-assurance only a man who used them time and time again had. Yes, he had bruised eyelids from uncountable sleepless nights, and he was frequently hunching down to keep his head from hitting ceilings or doorways, but even those traits had their own charm.
Now, as he sits, curved down over his desk and scratching away in a notebook, the red setting sun shines on his profile. His hair looks like it’s on fire, and the scarlet sclera of his right eye is all the more prominent. The leather of his gloves reflect the light attractively, as do the shiny buttons of his waistcoat.
He stops writing. As he leans back in his chair, his eyes narrow at the words he’s written, and he takes his jaw in one hand, pensive. He sits still for maybe half a minute before smirking, chuckling under his breath, and going back to his rapid note-taking. Now he has a confident smirk on his lips, and his eyes are half-lidded in self-satisfaction.
You watch Julian Devorak work with the attention an artist would pay his muse, or a rapt audience would a beautiful performance. A part of you thinks that maybe you could watch him for hours, days, (months, years,) and never get tired. Beyond his outer beauty, his personality, his dramatic antics, his bombastic attitude, never fails to light up the room. His wit and intelligence leaves you enraptured, so eager to listen as long as he wouldn’t stop talking. And his commitment to your comfort, his dedication to your happiness…sometimes leaves you breathless.
Julian’s brief stroke of inspiration seems to have ended, and he looks a little stumped now. His plump lower lip is caught between his lip and his thick brows are furrowed. He takes a deep breath and lets it out as a sigh, then shuts his eyes and stretches with a satisfied groan. You don’t dare blink, not wanting to miss a single detail of the way his torso curves beautifully, how you can almost see his muscles flexing in his upper arms through the sleeves of his waistcoat.
He relaxes back in his chair, finally opening his eyes. But instead of looking at his notebook, he makes eye contact with you, leaning against the doorway. For a brief moment, he seems surprised, and maybe a little embarrassed. But then he grins and waggles his eyebrows at you, and you can’t help a small laugh.
“Dare I ask how long you’ve been staring at me?” he asks, crossing his long arms over his chest.
You hum, tapping a finger against your chin. “How long have you been working in here?”
His jaw drops and his face immediately flushes, slightly harder to notice in the light of the sunset. “That long? It’s been hours.” His voice is almost a squeak.
“What can I say?” you shrug, “I enjoy watching you work, Doctor,” you purr his title, giving him a sultry look you’re quite sure you’ve never worn before meeting him. Maybe he’s a bad influence on you. Not that you really care.
Your goading works, and Julian gets that look in his eyes, the one he gets every time the two of you get intimate. He schools his expression into one of cool nonchalance, though you can see one of the corners of his mouth twitch up, and he stands, running a hand through his curls.
“Well,” he says, picking up his notebook and materials, “that’s all well and good, but I’m not the only one with things to do.” He slides them into a drawer of the desk, and strolls over to lean against the wall beside the open door next to you, casually crossing his arms and legs. “Skipping work to make eyes at me, hm?”
“Asra got back from his trip the day before, and he gave me today off. I decided to come visit you at your clinic, but I guess I came a little…early in my eagerness to see you.”
The teasing look in his eyes fades to fondness. He reaches over to caress your cheek, and murmurs, “You could’ve told me you were here earlier, you know. My work can always wait for you.”
At his words, your heart squeezes tight and you feel like you could float away. You place your hand over his. “That’s sweet of you, but I really didn’t mind waiting.”
Julian chuckles a little, and, in lieu of words, leans down to kiss you. The kiss is gentle, even as he parts your lips with his tongue and delves in. His cool leather-clad hands find their way around your waist, and your own wind around his shoulders, leaving barely any space between your chests.
For a second, it seems like your moment is going to end when Julian pulls away, but he lets out a small cut-off whine and dips down to your lips again. This time, the kissing begins to heat up, teeth adding to the mix. After biting as his lips, you press harder against him, and begin sucking on his tongue. Julian moans, and one of his hands goes up to rest between your shoulder blades, while the other…
When you feel his other hand grasp your ass, you can’t help but gasp into his mouth, followed with a purr. You push him against the wall beside the door, using your ankle to shut it, and crowd him with your admittedly shorter body. But he shivers at the manhandling, hands tightening their grip. The rough touch sparks up your spine, and you can’t help but grind your half-hard erection against his, pulling moans from both you and Julian.
“H-hah, darling,” Julian pants, “how far do you want to go with this?” You examine him closely; his pupils are blown wide, eyes half-lidded, and his cheeks and lips are deep red. He’s absolutely irresistible, and you can’t help but hunger for whatever he’s willing to give.
“However far you want to take it,” you eventually say, moving a hand up into his hair to tug idly. He bites his lip, and tips his head back, giving you full access to his neck. You lean up to nibble at the base of his neck as he answers you.
“Well… I-I…” he hesitates, swallows as you slowly bite up his neck, “I was wondering—ah—th-that is, er… If you were willing…if I…”
You pull away from his neck to point out, “You’re babbling.”
He swallows again, nods, and says, in a rush, “I-was-wondering-if-I-could-take-you-on-my-desk.”
The admission makes you shudder as arousal pools in your gut. Then you wonder at the specificity of his request. With a teasing smile, you ask, “A fantasy of yours?”
His avoidance of your gaze and complete lack of an answer is answer enough.
You laugh a little and back away from him. Before he can worry too much, you grin and nod at him, and start making your way over to his desk, pulling off your cotton and wispy silk clothing. When you turn, left only in your undergarments, you notice Julian hasn’t followed you. He’s still leaning against the wall, stock still, as if he didn’t realize you had accepted his request.
“Julian?”
That seems to snap him out of it, “Y-yes! Coming!” He all but storms over, only managing to pull off his gloves before reaching you. He seems to forget the matter of undressing once your bare skin is within reach and his lips meet yours once more. His hands roam your body, each touch firm and slow-moving as if to fully take in and appreciate every inch. His hands are cool, but the touch isn’t uncomfortable, and is in fact relaxing against your overheated skin.
You hop up onto the desk so Julian can fit himself between your legs, and so you can reach the tie of his leggings. He doesn’t seem to notice what you’re doing, too preoccupied with kissing you and memorizing every dip and curve of your person, until you shove his leggings down enough to release his already dripping length.
You both gasp at the same time; Julian because of the sudden exposure, and you because first of all, he’s not wearing any underclothes, and second of all, he’s…a lot bigger than you imagined. You and Julian have had small trysts before, but they were all (mostly) clothed affairs, and you could only ever guess at the shape of it. It’s…like the rest of him, tall, soft, and pretty.
Julian’s voice when he murmurs your name is concerned. You must have been staring at it for too long.
“If you’ve changed your mind, it’s—”
“No!” you interrupt, chuckling awkwardly, “It’s nothing, I just, uh… You’re…quite big.”
Julian groans and buries his face into your shoulder, “Please think about what you’re going to say before you say it.”
You laugh again. “So, I assume you have some oil or something on you.”
Without moving his head, Julian reaches for a drawer different from the one containing his notebook and withdraws a decently sized bottle of some transparent substance. Now he moves, leaning back so he can gently guide you down to lie on his desk. As you pull your undergarments down and off, you hear him uncork the bottle and pour some liquid over his fingers.
“Are you ready?” he asks softly. You shiver and hum an affirmation.
The viscous liquid is oddly warm as it makes contact with your hole. That doesn’t stop you from twitching from the sudden contact, but you don’t resist as Julian slides the tip of his first finger in.
Looking up at him, you see his eyes locked on to his finger inside you and you catch him licking his lips. The sight embarrasses you, and you cover your eyes with your arm. Julian may be a vision to behold, but his unwavering gaze on you while you’re in such a vulnerable position, like you’re an experiment of his or some kind of mystical once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon, is a little overwhelming.
Julian wriggles the rest of his finger in, and you knew he had much longer fingers than your own, but it’s particularly obvious in this moment. To the knuckle, it reaches much farther than you’ve ever reached on your own, and it makes you tremble in anticipation. Julian finally begins actually moving it in and out, coating your insides with the liquid, until you’ve relaxed enough to take two.
He’s so persistently gentle, working you open while avoiding pain with ease that makes you wonder how many times he’s done this before. The slight jealousy barely has time to coalesce in your mind before a measured jab strikes your prostate unexpectedly. Your back arches and legs fall wide open in both surprise and pleasure, and you couldn’t hold back a moan if you tried to. With your jerking motion, your arm is dislodged from your face and you can see Julian’s face again; he’s got a foxy grin, and he looks ever so much the cat that got the canary (…you wonder if perhaps you are the metaphorical canary).
You whine his name, but are interrupted with another caress of that sensitive spot, whimpering with a full-body shudder.
“Oh, my darling,” Julian says, leaning down to nuzzle at your neck, “so beautifully reactive.”
Then he goes back to preparing you, inserting a third finger, and he leans up again to watch you, this time roving his eyes all over you. When you try to cover your eyes with your arm again, he grasps your wrist with his free hand, and asks, “Let me see you?” with a shyness contradictory with the last picture he made. He’s biting his lip and giving these sad puppy dog eyes, like he’s afraid you’ll say no.
…You’ve never been good at saying no to him.
With a nod, you let your arm move to rest above your head. Julian gives a wide smile, and leans down to kiss and suck on your neck, moving down to your collarbone and chest. He doesn’t touch your prostate again, likely purposefully, but his fingers still feel good inside you. At a particularly strong push, you let out a sigh that’s almost a moan.
Then, suddenly, the fingers are pulled from you, and you feel upsettingly empty. You shoot a confused look at Julian as he straightens up. When he catches it, he laughs a little.
“Just need some more lubricant,” he says, showing you the bottle of that clear liquid.
You relax, smiling more to yourself than him. You’re not sure how long it’s been since you started, but a glance out the window shows it’s still sunset, even though the sun is now almost completely out of sight. “I feel like I could do this forever… Just you and me…” you mumble.
At the sound of a choked noise, you look over to see Julian staring at you with wide eyes. He doesn’t seem to notice how much of that liquid he’s pouring, and that it’s about to spill from his hand.
“Julian—!” Too late.
A substantial splash of it falls from his side of his hand and a little between his fingers, and lands on the crease of your thigh and your perineum, quickly sliding down into and around your fluttering hole.
Julian squawks, and sets aside the bottle. “I-I’m sorry, I just—”
You shake your head, waving him off. “It’s fine. But I wonder if we’re going to need any more now, it’s kind of a lot.” When you wiggle your hips experimentally, you can feel some of the liquid drip out of you. Odd.
Julian’s eyes are fixed on that point again, and he clears his throat. “Yes, indeed,” he mutters, a little distractedly. Then he gets back to work.
When he presses his fingers into you again, even more lubricant inside you now, it’s with all four of them. You gasp a little at the pressure, but it doesn’t quite hurt.
All the same, Julian asks, “Is this all right?” At your nod, he continues.
His motions are just as slow, measured, and precise as they were before, and you can’t help but smile and gaze at him with what surely must be a shamelessly loving expression. When he notices, he doesn’t say anything, but he does smile back and pointedly raise a single brow.
“You’re very good at this,” you say, raising your arms to reach for him. He’s much too tall to reach, but he seems to understand what you want, and leans down, fingers still moving inside and stretching you. As you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to rest his forehead against yours, you continue, “You’re so attentive, Julian, and so gentle, so kind. Such a good boy.”
He practically melts at your sweet words. “I…I am?”
You nod, your nose bumping against his. “Mhm. I love that about you. I love a lot of things about you.”
Julian makes a noise like an aborted whimper, and his fingers spasm a little inside you. He brushes against your prostate again, and you squeeze him a little too hard for a moment, gasping.
“I love a lot of things about you, too—uh, that is to say… I love you,” he says, quietly.
“I love you, too.” Then you wrap one of your legs around Julian’s waist, and your smile sharpens into something coy. “But when you take me, you don’t have to be gentle. You don’t have to hold back. I want you to take me. All of me.”
Julian’s soft and sweet expression falls away into shock, fingers freezing still inside you. “You, er. You really want that? Are you sure?”
You snicker, “Slow and gentle love-making is more appropriate in a bed, don’t you think? But,” you look at him seriously, “this is your fantasy, after all. How do you want to do it?”
“…Slow and gentle love-making is more appropriate in a bed,” he says slowly. Not exactly the most straightforward answer, but you’ll take it.
Julian begins moving his fingers again, still being careful, but a little more hasty in preparing you. Your heart rate, sedate with his previously almost massage-like movements, begins to pick up again.
Then, finally, finally, he’s finished. He pulls his fingers out of you and reaches for the lubricant bottle at the same time his clean hand pulls his cock out from where he must have previously tucked it back in when you weren’t looking. It’s in much more of a state than it was previously, dark red and positively soaked with pre-cum. Poor boy. You’re impressed by his restraint.
Pouring some of the liquid into his hand, Julian grasps his length, grunting a little. He spreads it evenly over himself, only touching as much as necessary, then wipes his hand on his leggings. He grabs your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the desk, and you feel his hot length against your still wet taint.
“Ready?” he asks with a note of finality as he bends down enough to get your legs over his shoulders. You get the feeling that he might not stop once you start, and the thought heats you up all over again. You nod.
He makes his way into you, slowly at first. He is big, and even though you were properly prepared, it’s still going to take a bit to get completely used to his size. But you’ll be damned if it isn’t as satisfying as you imagined. If you didn’t know him, one would think Julian’s face were twisted in agony, but you’re familiar with his expressions of both pain and pleasure, and this is very much the latter.
…Not that there was that much of a difference, when it came to the good doctor.
When Julian is all the way inside, his sharp hip bones, only slightly softened by his leggings, digging into the backs of your thighs, he lets out a long sigh, and opens his eyes. For a while, the two of you just gaze at each other, relishing the feeling of being connected so intimately. He removes one hand from your leg to brush against your cheek, then slide down into your hair, weaving it into the strands. The touch is tender and almost wondrous, and you shut your eyes to really focus on it.
And then, it begins.
Julian rears back, and slides in, slowly but firmly. Every thrust is punctuated with a sigh or a grunt and the slick noise of skin and too much lubricant, and at some point, his grip in your hair tightens. It pulls your head back slightly, exposing, and Julian isn’t able to resist it for long. He leans down further, bending you almost in half, to reach your neck, biting and sucking hard just above where a tendon meets your collarbone, marking you. You can’t help the gasp in response, reaching up to grip the shoulders of his waistcoat tight, twisting the fabric.
When he finally releases your discolored neck, he removes his hand from your hair to trace the large circle of dark purple, biting his own lip. He stares at it for a moment, lets out a pathetic noise, and starts quickening his pace inside you. Julian’s speeding up changes his angle just so, and now he’s rubbing firmly against your sensitive bundle of nerves, once on the way in and another time on the way out. It feels glorious, and you can’t stop your own embarrassing sounds, gasping moans and whines and even a couple loud cries when it really hits.
In an attempt to quell your obscene noises, you release one of Julian’s shoulders to cover your mouth with your arm. But no sooner as you do so does Julian reach down, grab your wrist, and pin it on the desk next to your head.
“I want to hear you, my dearest. Don’t withhold your lovely voice from me.” This time it’s not a request, and his eyes are as commanding as his tone is teasing. It sends jolts down your spine, and you can’t help a mewl that quickly morphs into a moan on an especially hard thrust.
The harder and faster he moves, the louder and more wanton you get. But you aren’t the only loud one. Julian’s grunts have evolved into moans and whimpering, almost a sob when you clench down on him. You feel so full, and so overheated that even though Julian’s skin is slightly warmer than usual, it still feels cool. It’s overwhelming, you feel dizzy and light, like all the blood in your body has gone to your head and your dick, and you wonder if you’re going to get a nosebleed.
A drop of sweat beads and falls on your jaw from Julian’s forehead. Most of Julian’s body is still covered in cloth and leather, but you’re completely naked (and isn’t that just a rush); sweat from your forehead, your neck, and back are dripping onto Julian’s desk and you just know that it’ll leave a giant mess for him to clean up. Hopefully you don’t stain the slightly worn wood.
Julian moans your name, and for a second, you achieve a burst of clarity through the haze of bliss. “Julian… When you—nnh—when you fantasize about this…what do you think about?”
His pace falters for a second, but he keeps it up. “What do I…?” He doesn’t say anything, just clutches you desperately, panting, and you wonder if he’s going to answer you at all. But finally, he does. “I think about this, about you, about…” he trails off, biting his lip hard enough for it to turn white.
“About…? Tell me.”
“A-ah, about you…moaning my name, telling me you love me, saying you’re mine, and I’m yours, always—always, ngh…” The heartfelt confession is so incongruous with his rough movements that it nearly gives you whiplash, while also almost bringing tears to your eyes.
“I do,” you whisper, pulling him close with your free arm, “I do love you. And I am yours, I’ll be yours forever. Will you be mine, Julian?” You grunt as his hands on your wrist and thigh squeeze hard. “Please be mine, tell me you’re mine—”
“Of course,” he groans, “Of-course-of-course-always.” His words slur together, and he’s clearly starting to lose it as much as you are. You give up on trying to coax more out of him, not that you’re capable of much more.
The hand that was clutching your thigh tight enough to bruise moves, and your leg joins your other around Julian’s waist, leaving you that much more open to his assault. You can’t really focus hard enough to pay attention to where it’s going, but you eventually become very aware where when fingers lightly curl around your very sensitive, drenched, and up until now untouched cock. The touch nearly makes you shoot off right there, and your back arches harshly on a loud cry of your lover’s name, pressing your chest solidly against Julian’s waistcoat. You can feel the buttons of it digging into your sensitive skin, and a little of the copious amounts of pre-cum covering your stomach and abdomen smears on it.
As you fall back down, Julian follows, kissing you tenderly as he starts stroking you with as feather-light strokes with the pads of his fingers as he can manage in his addled state. You can feel your orgasm rapidly approaching; Julian’s unrelenting pounding (surely in a way that would leave your backside sore—later, you would realize that maybe you shouldn’t have goaded him) against your prostate, the contrasting delicate touch on your length, the sweet kisses all adding together in a swirl of heat and excitement ready to blow.
“J-Julian, I—ah!” You try to warn him, but he suddenly grips you tight, and you’re gone. With a wail you’re sure to be embarrassed about later, you ejaculate, come shooting onto your chest, Julian’s waistcoat, and some even making its way onto the desk. The sensation is electrifying, though it fades and returns slightly weaker in waves, like ripples in water.
By the time you come back to yourself, you realize that you feel empty, much too empty. You open your eyes (you can’t quite recall when you closed them), and see Julian, lip between his teeth and eyes locked on your face, determined to keep them open and on you even though his mounting pleasure clearly threatens to close them. You realize the reason you feel so empty is because Julian has pulled out of you, and you can hear the slick-sounding brisk rhythm of him stroking himself to completion.
You shudder a little, heat sparking in your stomach just a little despite your recent orgasm. He’s released your arm, and you wrap both of them around his neck and pull him down so you can lean up to whisper in his ear, stroking the other with your fingertips. “My wonderful Julian, you did so well… Will you come for me?” You punctuate your words by grazing the shell of his ear with your teeth, and you can hear a sharp gasp before he bites the meat of your shoulder hard enough to draw a little blood.
It hurts, but his loud satisfied groan is worth it, and the sensation of come splattering on the back of your thighs, your backside, and everything in between is arousing in its own way. It takes a while for Julian to recover and unlatch himself from your shoulder, but when he does, he immediately begins fretting, as you expected.
“Oh, no, I’m so sorry—” He stops talking when you put a finger to his lips and smile. He sighs and smiles back, and it is radiant, filling your heart with light and love. Softly grasping your hand with his clean one and pulling it away, he says instead, “Thank you, darling, for indulging me.”
You giggle, mind still a little fuzzy, “I think we indulged each other plenty, no thanks required. But if you really wanna show your appreciation…”
“Yes? Anything.” He looks so eager that you can’t help but laugh again.
“Some help cleaning up and walking would do.” Your legs are starting to feel the however-long they were suspended against Julian. He seems to realize that the moment you finish talking, and hurries to help you up, apologizing again. When you clear the desk, the two of you look at it, stunned still at how much of a mess it is—even worse than you had anticipated. There’s sweat, a lot of it to be sure, but there’s also come, some of it dripping off the side, and small puddles of the ridiculously excessive amount of lubricant you had used, both on the desk and on the floor beneath it. Julian’s lucky that none of it seems to have touched any of the books or candles on the far edge of it. And that’s not to mention the mess all along the front of his waistcoat.
“Hm. Maybe we should prepare a little better next time.”
“Next time?” you ask, raising a brow. He gives you a Cheshire grin, and leads you towards the bathroom attached to his office, collecting your clothes along the way.