Going Through It

I think I may have answered this before, but it was a long time ago! So I’ll go through it again.

I think Price follows the traditional practices of being an oft-away partner. What did whaler’s wives do when their men were at sea? Well, I like to think they had tons of lesbian sex, but historically they also used a he’s-at-home. So, in short, I think he’s totally fine with you using toys when he’s away. When he’s around, though? He wants you using the real thing, always. Toys get banished to the back of the nightstand drawer. He will admit that the idea of plugs intrigue him, though.

Gaz is a modern guy who also happens to enjoy overstim. So he’s a big fan of using a vibrator as an assistant— but he gets a little huffy over you using dildos (he’ll never admit it). Like, he’s got a perfect cock right here, can silicone really compare? But anything else— bullet vibes, roses, suckers, plugs— all completely fair. But if you introduce the idea of a clone-a-cock…. He’s very interested in that. Loves to be on assignment and get a video of you fucking a replica of him, moaning for him.

Ghost is a utilitarian guy. Admittedly, I think sometimes he just does not get hard. Maybe it’s from all the torture, maybe it’s from nerve damage, maybe it’s just from all the wires that are crossed in his brain, but sometimes the synapses meant to send blood to his penis are just not firing. While he’s not against medicinal intervention on it, he’s also perfectly happy to fuck you stupid with a fake cock. And he has to admit, he does like how a clear dildo lets him see all the details of what’s going on in there.

I think Johnny started using sex toys and collecting them in his late teens, so he’s something of an enthusiast. He wants a tour of your collection, and wants to give you a tour of his. And he’s eager to make recommendations too. In fact, the thing that’s most likely to hurt his feelings is not if you buy a toy, but if you don’t show it to him first to ask what he thinks.

(This is more of a “hybrids as regular folk” kinda universe!)

There’s a certain stigma again tortoise hybrids. Well, a few. Especially when it comes to having them as partners.

First and foremost: the shell. Though not as heavy and restricting as that of a full tortoise, it’s still a big thing to work around.

Second: age. People don’t typically want to enter relationships where their partner will almost certainly outlive them.

Third: the herbivorous nature. This goes for most leaf-eating hybrids— a lot of time has to be spent eating. And leafy greens take up a lot of space in the fridge. It’s a whole thing.

Fourth: the speed. Like, we have places to be. Can’t you step it up a little?

Price, a proud lion hybrid, is still rather desirable in his old age. Efficient, driven, minimal. A strong, able carnivore— he could have his pick of partners.

Of course no one says it out loud, but they’re always surprised to see you introduced as being his partner. The illustrious captain John Price, saddled with someone whose presence amounts to little more than a boulder to most? It seems far fetched.

But Price doesn’t mind it. He doesn’t mind spending his hours with you, sitting out at the patio table on the porch while you much away at lettuce, melon, and cactus. He piles up your romaine and adds a date so there’s a little sweet surprise— dusted with some calcium, of course.

Delights in scrubbing you down and waxing your shell. Always has his hands on it— he loves the feel of your scutes, and he feels responsible checking the parts you can’t reach for any dry or brittle areas.

You’re younger than him, but he always gets you the best of everything. Things built to last. It includes the house he tends, it has old bones but it’ll stay sturdy long after he’s gone. Tons of notes and word files hidden around the house and in your computer so there will be traces of him for you to find.

Your ambling pace as he takes you around the lake near the house is just perfect for him. Lets him take in the world, in earnest, for the first time. He never knew how to slow down before you— there was always the next task to move up from the back burner. Fires to be put out. Never time to admire his work— to appreciate the moments he fights for.

So no. He doesn’t mine having a tortoise for a partner.

For John, I think his fairy is fussy about his smoking not in terms of health, but in terms of propriety. Not to mention, it doesn’t take much to ruin their air quality. So they’ll make a big stink if he asks for a light when they’re in an enclosed space.

Ghost and his fairy have a near telepathic level of communication— they work together almost seamlessly, like they’re an extension of him.

Johnny has a terrible habit of pissing off his fairy. He just thinks it’s so cute when they get all huffy and stamp their little foot! It’s not uncommon to see him with little bite marks and yanked out hairs from being a pushy bastard.

Gaz and his fairy are gossip fiends. They love whispering to each other and giggling like they know something you don’t. And they probably do.

Nikolai’s fairy is a bit like a programmer’s rubber duck. He’ll often explain what he’s working through out loud— and sometimes his fairy will come with the solution, sometimes just saying out loud makes him realize what he should be doing. He says he’d hardly get anything done without them.

“Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t hate pompompurin. I like him— he’s the one that’s a little yellow puppy who kinda looks like a pudding. Cinnamoroll I feel less charitably towards. But for like the last decade it’s just been these fucking dogs, year after year. God forbid someone a little more interesting win. You never see Hangyudon winning. For fuck’s sake, Little Twin Stars has never even won. Can you believe that? I’m gonna be in the fucking old folks home before there’s a new winner!”

“….. How did I find you unmarried, milaya? You’re so…. Enchanting. I could listen to you for hours.”

And there’s not a shred of sarcasm or irony in his words.

You know what the crazy thing is?

Nik still sells to him. Gets you a new phone with a new number. It’s not necessary, but it helps. Just in case he gets a high and has a little lapse in judgement. It happened once. Nik wasn’t happy with how much it upset you.

Your ex…. Every so often he gentle, skittishly prods. Asking Nik about things that aren’t his business. Namely, you.

“So, uhm…. How…. How is she?”

Nikolai doesn’t think of himself as a bad man. He’s not cruel or callous when he doesn’t need to be. He places a warm, comforting hand on your ex’s shoulder and looks at him with a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes just a little.

“You don’t need to worry yourself about that, my friend.”

Nikolai has a way of letting finality simmer beneath his words. It stops people in their tracks, no matter how well planned and rehearsed their encounter with him may have been. Like a viper, his mouth drips with a paralytic.

Your ex proverbially rolls over. Exposes his soft underbelly, with a stretched, submissive smile.

Nikolai rolls his thumb against your ex’s shoulder. Not unlike how he comforts you with a firm hold to your back or your thigh.

“Good man.”

When Nik leaves the building, he pulls up your contact and smiles at your little “thinking of you” message. He gets one from you most days that he goes out, and it keeps you with him. Like he’s got a little angel on his shoulder, kicking her little legs cutely and enjoying a sucker— it makes her lips sweet when she turns her head to kiss his cheek. He wonders if you have any idea how many noses, capillaries, and livelihoods those little messages have saved just by putting him in such a good mood.

He asks you want him to pick up on the way home. You ask for a turkey club and a slice of chocolate marbled cake.

A small price for a private paradise, he thinks.

Read this with the understanding that I have an extremely surface level understanding of organized crime, so this will be a largely fictionalized representation of the mafia

Nikolai isn’t left wanting for power or influence. No, where he falls short is in image. Still a bachelor. Despite his age, still seen as a youthful upstart. A careless bachelor. The solution is obvious, and there is no shortage of heiresses to choose from.

Your father isn’t a loud or boisterous man, but he is stubborn. Nikolai has always liked that about him. An unwillingness to compromise or be pushed over. Their business relationship has prospered in recent years, with the two learning more about each other. And of course, as with every devoted father, all roads lead back to his precious girl.

Nikolai has never met you. As with the children of many families of means within the mafia, you are scarcely seen outside of your estate. Any car you ride in has the windows tinted nearly black, and your outings are accompanied by a ring of protectors that block you from view of any camera. All that he knows is your father’s regard. Anything his baby wants, she gets. Which sets up an image— a pampered princess who’s never had to work, who’s had her every whim catered to, and likely cannot abide by anything that isn’t precisely the way she likes it, as she’s never had to.

But Nikolai agrees to meet with you, regardless. This is, to your father, a great honor being granted as an exception for a close associate— it would be rude to refuse. He’s prepared to meet you, hold back his disinterest politely, and tell your father that you’re much too beautiful and lively to be tied down to an old fool just yet.

You find it hard to meet his eyes, which Nikolai delights in, to his surprise. He subtly prods at your interests and cannot take his gaze from you. The conversation is a little one sided, both due to your shyness and your decorum— it’s not as if you can ask after his work.

You sweetly insist on pouring his tea for him. There’s a smear of jam on your lip left from a tartlette that you heartily enjoyed, perhaps in a rather unladylike fashion, as the buttery crust began to crumble at your first bite. You look like you almost faint from embarrassment when he reaches and wipes it for you with his thumb, pulling away and making a show of tasting it from his skin. He could swear he sees the shiver run up your spine just from witnessing his display.

Through the course of an afternoon, the obligation of investing in family life soon becomes a vested interest for Nikolai.

I also often think about pinky cutter Nikolai.

He keeps it, by the way. In a little jar of formaldehyde. You think the jar used to be one of those little jams that come in a gift basket. Maybe a hot pepper jelly. It sits on his desk— the one where he does his more delicate work.

The thing he wants you to realize is that he’s watching and he’s remembering. There are a thousand tiny things every day that even you don’t know you’re doing. But he does. And like Anubis, he keeps a set of constantly balancing scales in his mind.

Nikolai likes watching the little twitch of your silver cap. Especially when he can see you holding it out— when you’re holding up a drink. As if you still need manners and decorum with him. He’s a tradesman, at times. Works with his hands. He’s very acutely aware of his fingers and the important roles they play. Taking your pinky was a kindness, in this respect.

Your drink is always poured into a big mug. He watches as you struggle just the slightest bit. The slight tremor of your hand as your pinky fails to contribute to the grip. Even better when you drop it. Shattering a cup into a few wonderful pieces, followed by tearful, guilt-ridden apologies.

Your ring is custom. It has a little indent— a curve for your cap to fit into. A reminder of what came first, between eternal devotion and harsh discipline.

Sorry this deviated so far from your ask but

I think Nik would lure you in with the promise of sugaring but you’d end up in a real relationship without you even knowing. Very much a spider weaving his web for the unwary fly.

Like it starts as just compensated dating. Paying to take you to nice restaurants for the company, basically to hear you talk about your day and yourself (he mainly asks to hear about you, and doesn’t care to talk about himself much). Then, the rates go up and things get physical. This is the hardest phase for him, probably, because he can make love to you but he can’t keep you in bed and spoil you for as long as he wants after. You eventually slink out and go back to your place.

Along the way he starts driving you. Picks you up, knows where you live, drops you off. And then, on days when you tell him you can’t meet, you have an appointment, he tells you he doesn’t mind. He can take you to your appointment after your date, no problem. He can drive you home from it, too.

And then he doesn’t just drive and drop you. He walks in with you. Says he wants to make sure you’re alright. Ends up paying for these too— your health is important to him, you know? And suddenly he has a much larger wealth of information about you. All of your appointments are in his calendar.

You stay the night a lot. So of course it makes sense for you to have a change of clothes there. Spare toothbrush. Hairbrush. Toiletries. Soon you’re not just overnighting— it’s whole weekends.

And if you’re staying over so often, and he has all this space, and you’re trying to save money, it makes so much more sense for you to just move in with him. You’d still have your own room, your own space, but no more worrying about the rent, yeah?

And then he doesn’t just know your appointments. He also knows your social calls. He’ll pick you up and drop you off when you go hang out with friends. Of course, they all think of him as your boyfriend.

Over time, it just makes sense to introduce them. He ingratiates himself into that part of your life when a few months ago you could have sworn you were keeping your personal and professional life carefully segregated.

And then comes the ultimate play: he wants to move back to his country house in Kastovia, for a time. You’ll come with him, won’t you? He’ll take care of everything. And can you really go back to living life without him now that you’ve come to depend on him so much?

No. You really can’t.

Soon, when you find yourself sleeping in bed with him every night, being cuddled into his chest and wondering what he might treat you to for breakfast in the morning…. His saying “I love you” seems so natural. You can help but murmur it back. This comfort and ease of existing could only be love, right?

After that there’s a blur. Meeting his friends. Him sliding his ring on your finger.

It only dawns upon you how far you’ve fallen when Soap asks how it was that you two met. Too embarrassed to say anything, Nikolai holds your hand and recounts the tale. About how you were so cautious and guarded— clearly you’d been forced to rely on only your own strength for a long time.

But that he knew right away where you were meant to be.

There isn’t. But there could be.

This one is a little less clinical, it’s more sappy.

Price undoes your stirrups himself after you’re done being held in the conception position for the required duration. He gently takes hold of your ankles, one by one, to help you stretch at the knee and where your leg meets your hip. You sigh, closing your eyes and letting your head loll to the side as he works you loose again. It isn’t long before you’re scooped up and taken back to your personal quarters for some proper rest.

“Stay, John,” you command, knowing he was about to ask if that’s what you wanted. He always does. There’s something between arrogance and fondness on his face as he falls into your bed, quickly pulling you into his arms. The man loves to have something to cuddle when he goes to bed.

“Love, you know… it’s my birthday soon.”

You’re a little puzzled. Price doesn’t often talk personal details. A lot of what you know has come from screens and statistics relating to his performance.

“Well… have you thought about what you want for your birthday?”

He chuckles. “In a way….”

John idly scratches the coarse hair on his face, seeming uncharacteristically deep in thought.

“They’re talking about retiring me from the program.”

You can’t help the little gasp that escapes you. It’s not something that had ever crossed your mind as a possibility. He was already a little on the older side when you started getting paired with him, but pickings were extremely slim. These days, the program has been able to find quite a few more young bucks.

“They’ve been asking me in an unofficial capacity what I’d want to do— if I were retired. Where I’d want to be…. If they could do anything for me.”

It made sense that the program team would be grateful. John Price had helped humanity crawl back from the brink, in some ways. And as a poster boy, they’d want to set him up well— make the program seem like something desirable, like an opportunity.

“And what did you tell them?”

“That I’d want to stay close. Spend some time consulting, teaching the new bucks…. But I’d like some piece of land, too. Somewhere I could grow a few things, maybe keep a couple of animals. But… I’ve been thinking of asking for one more thing. Something I’m not sure I’ll get.”

Price shifts you on top of him so he can look you in the eye. “I want us to have a baby.”

You smile like he’s taking the piss, almost snorting. “John— all we’ve ever done, basically, is make babies.”

“No— we’ve fertilized eggs, love. We’ve made zygotes. What I want is for you to be under my roof, barefoot and pregnant, with a little bundle that we get to keep.”

I do think of Nik as the king of non-sexual nudity

He throws on a robe in the morning with nothing underneath. Usually doesn’t bother to tie it closed.

You’re in the kitchen and he’ll come from behind to hug you, and you can still feel his cock against you— noticeable even when it’s soft.

And you know this man has never sat with his thighs together in his life. And you know they’re thick and hairy. He’d love for you to join him— you basically swim in his robes, but he loves to see that, so he’s hesitant to get you one of your own.

He’ll lounge on the cough with his legs spread, maybe throwing one over the arm of the couch, that’s usually how he does his reading.

And no matter the weather, his thighs are so warm. Perfect place to lay your head and a perfect surface to ride. If you follow his lead and go around with your pussy out, he’s definitely going to snatch you when you’re passing by and straddle you on his thigh and start bouncing and tensing it. He loves to see you slick up and wet the hair on his thigh until it’s matted down and sticky.

Of course he loves to see how you try to avoid looking right at his dick. And yeah, if he catches you staring he might flex or make it twitch just to see you jump.

When you’re showering or taking a bath he’ll come in and join you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He won’t even try anything— he’ll just start rubbing you down with a washcloth, washing your hair— he even shaves you if that’s your thing. Won’t get hard unless you start something.

“Sorry to shop and run,” Price says with a rare look of actual apology on his face, handing a sealed envelope over. Nik takes it with the same kind smile he always does.

“Don’t worry about it. Plenty of time to catch up after this next job, no?” His attention suddenly drifts when some rustling sounds from inside, a quiet little ‘Kolya?’ barely audible. Just like that, the envelope is forgotten on the entryway table right next to the dish for keys and loose change.

Price makes the decision to intrude a little by walking a few steps forward, just in time to see Nik kissing your nose.

“Go back down, maýshka. I’ll carry you to bed soon.”

You murmur something Price can’t make out, wiggling back into your little cocoon, huffing as if exhausted. Nikolai nuzzles noses with you before kissing your forehead and getting back up, leaning to tug the string on the lamp by the couch so it can’t keep you up. Now the living room just has soft lighting cast from the kitchen.

“Don’t suppose that’s a customer,” John states, Nikolai shooing him back to the door. Bastard still has his boots on.

“No. Not a customer. I’ll introduce you next time you visit at a more human hour.”

Price leaves, unable to shake the mental image of you, sleepy and warm, prone beneath him as he slides his leaking cock between the slick lips of your cunt.

Thank you I love you

When your boyfriend gets back from work, he’s greeted with an empty apartment. Which isn’t that unusual— you have your own job and other stuff you get up to. Probably. What is unusual is that a good chunk of your things are missing. Your go-to clothes, your favorite mug, that ratty old bear you won’t get rid of.

Meanwhile, Nikolai is busy kissing away your doubts as he gently lays your shirts in an empty drawer of his dresser.

“Is this crazy? Am I crazy? I made eye contact with you for more than ten seconds for the first time today, and now you’re folding my panties and, and—“ Another kiss is planted swiftly on your lips.

“Leave the worrying to me, milaya. Even if it’s just for tonight.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it. From the looks of it, it’s his personal phone, though you can’t say for sure. You’ve seen quite a few different phones in his hand over the time you’ve known him. You’re almost startled when this one is handed to you— a delivery app opened.

“If you must worry, worry about what we have for dinner, yes? Pick anything you like.”

He certainly knows how to kick your brain into a different gear. And sense your thoughts with shocking accuracy.

“Don’t worry about the total. I take care of you now, zolotse.”

You’re pulled close for the umpteenth time today so Kolya can kiss the crown of your head too.

It was supposed to be a joke.

The snide little comment from Soap about Nik getting a dog bed for you. While you weren’t even awake to defend yourself, too!

But Nikolai has never been one to laugh off a good idea.

The team thought you’d be polite about the purchase at best, mildly offended at worst.

They didn’t expect you to bloody love the thing.

Suddenly you’re all over Nik, just like a new puppy, telling him how sweet he is— how comfy your new spot is. And soon it’s covered in pillows and quilts— things you’re too tired to ever tuck yourself into. But that’s what papochka is for, no?

Cooing about how he has to fold the crust over his little pie filling, that’s how perfectly you tuck into the round bed to him.

Suddenly those throwaway comments from Nik about stealing you away from the team to be his personal helper… seem a little more real.

And to make matters worse, now he’s gotten a little tray to put next to the bed— a place for your water bottle and a plate of orange slices and other snacks…. So now you’re being fed and watered like a puppy, too.

Lmaoooo….. I also had an rdr blog…. Crazy how we all have a type….

Here’s what I have to say on that:

You’re correct. But you know who I think enjoys it the most?

Price.

It may sound kind of old fashioned, but it does make him feel like an absolute king. He’s the one who has the most trouble readjusting to the routine of civilian life, and that definitely applies to sleeping the night through. He really desperately wishes that he could have a late morning in bed with you, but usually he wakes up before sunrise and he’s too restless to go back down.

So for you to even wake up before him? It means he went down like a sack of bricks. Slept like a dead man. Maybe dreamt for the first time in month. And then he gets this delightful, slow build to wakefulness from you gently sucking and licking at him. Like truly, it doesn’t get better than that for him. Slow, tantric pleasure he can enjoy with sun filtering in from that crack in the curtains.

And you may ask what he does when he wakes up before the crack of dawn and can’t get back to sleep. Well. It has a lot to do with the fact that you’re on faun legs while the sheets are in the wash later. That’s all I’ll say.