Chapter Text
The music is muffled by the raging storm outside. The doll still sits in front of the old gramophone, motionless. The wild rocking of the trees in front of the window reflects in his dark, lifeless eyes. He is all alone while you are in the living room, asleep. You took a shower not even an hour ago after freezing your toes off because of those damn rat traps. You needed your shampoo, soap, and all your lotions to get rid of the smell of the dead and wet animals. Disgusting.
You are lying on the couch, still in your robe, eyes closed. Your chest moves up and down with every calm breath you take. The heavy drum of the rain on the rooftop is far from your relaxed mind. You don't care about the bright strikes that light up the room every few seconds or the loud rumble of the sky that follows them. And you don't care about the man watching you through the hole in the wall either.
Brahms stands still with his hands flat on the rough surface of the inside of the wall. It shakes under his touch, fighting against the wrathful weather outside. The man can feel every lighting and every thunder, but the world could fall apart, and he wouldn't move an inch. His eyes are on you, barely blinking. He doesn't even remember the times he didn't spend his days watching you. You became a part of his life quickly and easily, even if you know nothing about it. Yet.
His movements are quick and quiet as he comes out of his hiding place. His huge form barely fits through the secret passage of the wall. His gaze stays on you the whole time, afraid you wake up and ruin his playtime. He doesn't want that. He doesn't want you scared and panicked. He doesn't want you to leave him.
No.
You won't leave him. He will make sure of it. He will be good. So good.
He towers over your sleeping form, watching the way your lashes flutter every now and again. His gaze falls on the slope of your nose and the curve of your open lips. His fingertips tingle with the need to touch you. His breathing gets heavy as he goes lower. The robe you wear is much more open than it was when you decided to take a quick nap after your shower. Saliva gathers in his mouth at the sight of your nipple. The hard peak matches the shade of your lips. His hand trembles as he reaches out. His thumb grazes over the pebble, flicking it briefly before snapping his hand away from you. His eyes jump back to your face, but you are still asleep. The small movement of your chest as you breathe is still the same.
Okay, he thinks, that's good.
His index finger tugs on the opening of your robe until the belt around your waist gives up, and you are bare in front of his hungry gaze. He doesn't even know where to look first. Brahms is mesmerized by the soft globes of your breasts, the curve of your waist, and the pretty triangle between your legs. His hard cock twitches in his pants. Pre-cum leaks from the aching tip, forming a dark patch on the soft fabric of his underwear.
He reaches out again. His large palm lands on your side, and his thumb slides over the underside of your breast. His lips fall open with a silent whine. He can feel the sweat running down his temple. His hold slides down to your hips. You fit perfectly in his hold.
Your legs spread further, and his breath hitches in his throat. So pretty. You are so pretty.
The storm is still wild and powerful outside, mixing with the sound of the music from the other room. Thick fog floats around the house, hiding you and him in another world where you are willing and open to him.
With his other hand, he pushes down on his pants until his cock and heavy balls are free between his thick thighs. His long fingers curl around his shaft, squeezing and tugging.
His hold on you is steady and gentle, still afraid of you waking up and ruining his fun. No. It would be too soon. You need time. He needs more time, too. His hand smooths down to your thigh, gently groping your flesh there for a second. So soft. So perfect. Another whine stretches in his throat. His chest feels too tight for everything he feels right now. His index finger runs over your slit. His touch is curious and inexperienced. He doesn't know exactly what he should do; he just feels the throbbing need to do something. Anything.
After a few minutes of his aimless caressing, you start to get wet. Brahms notices it with a surprised gasp. His fingers move more easily until he slips deeper, opening up your folds to his determined glare.
He feels the familiar pull on his balls. His hand tightens and quickens. His bottom lip trembles as he moans. The voice is strange and high. It's happening. The familiar pull in his lower stomach tugs on his insides. He will cum.
His finger goes even deeper inside you, finding your tight hole and sinking into its warmth. And then you moan. Your voice is much prettier than his, but your eyes are still closed. There is a small frown between your brows, though, as you start to move your hips. You almost fuck yourself on his finger as you whimper and moan some more.
"Y/N," Brahms moans as he reaches his orgasm. Soon, both of his hands are soaked with yours and his juices. His creamy white seed gathers in the middle of his large palm as he shoots and shoots. His hips rock back and forth, watching his index finger disappear in your pussy as you grind down on him.
In the background, the music stops, and for a second, you freeze too. Brahms's heart stops beating for a second.
Not now. Not yet.
Pulling out his finger from your tight hole, he reaches out between your thighs with his other hand. He smears his seed on your pussy hurriedly, letting the thick drops paint your skin and mark you as his.