Underground Secrets ( M-jow and Sosuke0549 )

[M-jow]

Behind the bedroom door, Sora stood perfectly still. He had shut it in the moment but yeah. He had only væosed himself into an even smaller room now. His heart hadn’t quite calmed down yet. 

He could still feel the ghost of Fang’s arms around him. The steady rise and fall beneath his chest. The way that grip had softened without him asking for it.

That softness before he'd taken the chance and bolt.

 

Footsteps approached, unhurried and confident.

Sora straightened instinctively, though Fang couldn’t see him. He dragged a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it down and only succeeding in making it worse. There was a faint grin tugging at his mouth despite himself.

Then Fang’s voice came through the door.

Low. Warm. Amused.

Sora’s stomach did an annoyingly noticeable flip.

He rolled his eyes at the wood panel in front of him, crossing his arms as if Fang could somehow sense the gesture through solid material.

“Our bedroom,” he muttered under his breath, heat creeping faintly up his neck. The phrase affect him more than he had expected.

He pushed off the door and took a few quiet steps back into the room, glancing around as though evaluating terrain. Bed to the left. Window to the right. Closet behind him.

Safest place?

Questionable.

Excited?

…Maybe a little.

Sora moved toward the bed but didn’t sit. That would be conceding comfort again. Instead, he leaned casually against the dresser, ankles crossing, arms still folded, manufacturing nonchalance in the privacy of an empty room.

“Chase me?” he called back through the door, tone light and disbelieving. “You sound very confident for someone who got outmaneuvered on his own couch.”

He heard his own pulse in his ears.

Then—

“Pick a number. One, two, or three.”

Sora stilled. His eyes narrowed slightly at the door as if it had personally offended him.

A trap? Obviously.

But what kind?

His mind ran through possibilities quickly. One could mean he walks in. Two could mean he counts and gives chase. Three could mean something unpredictable. Fang liked unpredictability.

Sora uncrossed his arms slowly.

He wasn’t actually trying to avoid him. That was the ridiculous part. If Fang opened the door right now, Sora knew he probably couldn’t run again. The first escape had been about proving a point. 

 

He exhaled softly. “…Two,” he answered at last, voice steady but quieter than before. He hadn’t lock the door.

He just stood there, heartbeat drumming lightly, chin tilted in stubborn readiness—even though the spark in his eyes wasn’t defensive at all.

If this turned into another round, he’d run.

Probably.

Unless Fang pulled him close again like before.

And if that happened… Well.

Sora wasn’t entirely sure he’d try to escape a second time.

 

-------------------------------

 

Leon felt the subtle shift in Asta’s weight, the fragile tremor that ran through him. Asta’s eyes, usually guarded, now swam with a raw, undeniable hunger that mirrored the inferno raging beneath Leon’s own skin. The soft, whispered words, 

["Don't,"] then, ["Don't stop,"] the desperate plea echoing in the quiet space, broke something within Leon. Two years. Two years of measured breaths, of careful touches, of a self-imposed restraint that had frayed his nerves to their thinnest strands. He had held back, a primal force caged for the sake of Asta’s healing, for the fragile human he cherished above all else. Now, Asta offered the key to that cage.

 “Then I wouldn’t., not even if you beg me to.” The confession, barely audible, ripped through the last vestiges of Leon’s control. Asta’s heart hammered against Leon’s chest, a frantic drumbeat that Leon felt deep within his own panther-tuned senses. It was a symphony of vulnerability, a surrender that ignited every possessive instinct Leon possessed.

Leon’s breath hitched, a guttural sound rumbling in his chest. His gaze devoured Asta’s face—the flushed cheeks, the slightly parted lips, the eyes cloudy with an emotion so potent it stole the air from Leon’s lungs. This wasn't just a kiss anymore. This was a covenant, a release, a plunge into the depths they had both skirted for so long.

 He didn't speak. Words would only dilute the storm brewing inside him. Instead, Leon’s hands, which had been gently cradling Asta’s waist, tightened, digging into the soft flesh of his hips. He shifted, tilting Asta back slightly, deepening the angle of their kiss. A low moan escaped Asta, a sound that vibrated through Leon’s lips, straight to his core. Leon’s tongue plunged into Asta’s mouth, a slow, deliberate invasion that tasted of desire and two years of aching want. He tangled with Asta’s tongue, a hungry dance, drawing out every last drop of moisture, every soft sound. Asta’s fingers, still clutched in Leon’s shirt, now tugged, pulling Leon closer still, as if trying to merge their very beings.

 Leon broke the kiss, needing air, needing to see, to breathe in this moment. His eyes, now burning with a golden intensity that Asta rarely saw, locked onto Asta’s. He could feel the heavy thrum of his own pulse, the panther stirring, muscles coiling with anticipation.

 “I want you” Leon’s voice was a low growl, rough with barely contained passion. He didn’t want to scare Asta, but he wouldn’t lie about the intensity of his hunger. His control was a thin veil, ready to shred. “But… I won’t stop until we’re both completely satisfied.”

 He gave Asta’s time to respond, but really, a small nod, was all Leon needed.

 With a primal surge, Leon lifted Asta from his lap, not gently, but with a swift, powerful motion that had Asta gasping. Leon didn’t release him, instead, he held Asta pressed flush against his chest, one arm hooked under Asta’s knees, the other a vice grip around his back.

Asta’s legs instinctively wrapped around Leon’s waist, his face buried against Leon’s neck. Leon carried him, striding with purpose towards the bedroom.

 The apartment lights, usually soft and inviting, felt too bright, too revealing for the raw intimacy that was about to unfold.

Leon didn’t bother with them. The moon, a silver lights outside the window, cast long, distorted shadows across the room, painting everything in shades of grey and black.

He reached the bed, the king-sized that suddenly seemed too small, and lowered Asta onto the mattress. Leon following him down, never breaking contact.

 His lips found Asta’s again, a deeper, more demanding kiss this time. His hands were everywhere—tracing the curve of Asta’s spine, slipping beneath his shirt, seeking the warmth of his skin. Asta arched into the touch, a silent plea for more.

Leon tore his mouth from Asta’s, leaving a trail of shimmering saliva, and attacked his neck, biting gently, sucking, leaving faint red marks that would bloom later. Asta’s head fell back against the pillows, a strangled cry escaping his throat as Leon’s touch him.

 “You have no idea,” Leon rasped against Asta’s skin, his voice thick with unfulfilled craving.

“How much I want you.” He sat up with Asta caught between his strong thighs. He then took a hold around Asta’s wrist and lead his had toward himself. Placing Asta’s palm over his heart. His chest felt firm and hard even over his shirt. And his heartbeat could be felt so clearly. Then a flicker of a grin flashing over Leon's face as he slid Asta’s hand down his body slowly. Stopping his hand right over the bulge in his pants. His erection was growing bigger under his palm.

"I might be a bite more demanding today. It’s like a switch has been turned in me. And when you look at me with those huge eyes..I just want to devour you... lick every inch of your warm body till you squirm. 

 

His hands worked quickly, efficiently, tearing at the buttons of Asta’s shirt, then his own. Fabric gave way, discarded without a second thought. The cool air brushed against their heated skin, a fleeting sensation before their bodies pressed together again, skin to skin.

 Leon's eyes devoured Asta as much as his mouth did. Sunkissed skin, a delicate collarbones, the gentle curve of his stomach but still quiet hard. He remembered every freckle, every scar on Asta’s body. But seeing them now, bathed in moonlight, knowing they were his to claim without restraint, sent a fresh wave of heat through him.

“Beautiful,” Leon murmured, his lips pressing a searing kiss to Asta’s chest, tasting the faint salt of his skin. His tongue flicked out, tracing the outline of a nipple, making Asta gasped, 

 It was all the encouragement Leon wanted. His mouth closed around Asta’s nipple, sucking hard, drawing it deep into his mouth, his teeth grazing lightly. Asta cried out, a high, keening sound that made Leon’s own cock throb painfully against his thigh. He moved to the other nipple, giving it the same intense attention, alternating between gentle suckling and sharp, delicious bites. Asta writhed beneath him, a living testament to the power Leon held over him made the shifter feel incredible.

 Leon moved lower, his lips blazing a path down Asta’s stomach, past the faint line of hair, until he reached the waistband of Asta’s pants.

He paused, his eyes meeting Asta’s once more. The human’s face was flushed crimson, eyes half-lidded, lips swollen from their kisses. There was no fear there, only a desperate, aching need.

“This is going to be rough, love,” Leon warned, his voice a low, guttural rumble. “I can’t promise I can hold back”

With a powerful tug, he ripped Asta’s pants and underwear down, discarding them in a heap on the floor. Asta’s cock sprang free, already hard and throbbing, glistening with a bead of pre-cum. Leon’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise and immense satisfaction. He hadn’t realized just how ready Asta was.

 Leon’s hand wrapped around Asta’s shaft, stroking slowly, deliberately, feeling the silkiness of the skin, the delicate ridge of the head.