Chapter Text
Caleb can run through all of the possibilities as many times as he wants, rationalizing day by day about how his precious meimei only needed a bit more motivation to clean up their shared space. Camped out in the middle of the woods, Caleb strung up their laundry after Josephine had sent them away on a trip to force them to get out of the house during a summer where they had been cooped up too much, playing the newest Pokemon video game to come out.
You watch him from the sidelines, grinning on the porch of the cabin that you’d helped him pick out under the guise of it being cat friendly. Two strays had already pawed at the laundry when Caleb’s back was turned, and a particularly rowdy one had run off with your private undergarments in tow, and who was Caleb but the best gege ever to chase after the mischief-maker and teach it a lesson, while respectfully averting his eyes of course?
“Don’t get lost!” You call out, crossing your legs, raising a hand and lazy fingers to dismiss him. So predictable for you not to even lift a finger to help. That’s what he’s for, right? Groveling at your beck and call, over and over again, no matter the circumstances. He may as well make himself reliable.
He does end up snagging your panties back from the kitten, whisking them back to you with his eyes covered the entire time, and not a finger laid on the fabric using his evol.
The unfortunate part though is that he ends up dreaming about that pair of panties much later, when he first moves to Skyhaven for the DAA.
Frilled, red, and he could’ve sworn that he could catch your scent even though back then, he’d make sure to hold the garment far from his face. His mind helpfully supplies the rest, and fills in that you’d definitely smell wonderfully sweet, pleasantly flowery from the new perfume that you wore last time he came to Linkon. That’s the exact pair and scent that he steals from the washing machine with a flick of his fingers. He was never confident enough to do so in reality, afraid of the repercussions of being found out, even if fisted his cock to the thought of trying it, planning the routes and times and cumming to the potential of being caught and ruining it all for a moment of ardent adoration.
In the hazy darkness of a dream, he gains the confidence to bring your panties back into his room, locking his door behind him quietly, muffling the sound with his evol. He’s almost at a loss, one hand clumsily fumbling with the tie of his sweatpants, the other flipping your panties inside out—
And then he’s pressing the seam of your panties to his nose, inhaling until his eyes roll back in bliss, because it was exactly how he imagined it, sweet and pillowy and wrong, all at once. His fingers finally loosen his pants, and he’s tugging them off with his boxers, wrapping his fingers around his dick, already half hard with excitement. Two pumps is all it takes to spread messy precum all over the shaft, and he’s tugging until his tip is exposed and flushed with affection for the pretty panties in his hand, still pressed over his nose and mouth.
Would it be so wrong to take it a step further? He’s already gone so far…
His tongue darts out, and just the tiniest taste of the heaven between your legs has his legs giving out from under him, sending his ass plummeting onto his bed and his hand doubling in speed over his cock, desperate for a climax that he knows will never be the same as being able to empty himself within your warm entrance, inviting and sweet and—
“Nnghh—” How is he supposed to keep his voice down? A cyclical punishment, the scent of your panties and the taste of your slick, combined with the imagination of it being your walls clamping around his shaft rather than his pathetic hand as he thumbs under his own tip, trying to pretend that you and him had somehow gotten close enough and gone far enough for you to know exactly what makes him go insane.
Would you thumb at his slit, teasing as you asked him to beg? He would. In a second. In a heartbeat. He’d get on his knees and do just about anything, especially if you figured out how much he liked it in that spot right under the tip, tracing the edge of the head like he’s mimicking with his thumb right now.
“God, I can’t— please, please please pleaseplease—” He gasped, muffling his moans with your panties, legs shaking as that heavenly high made his thighs seize and his cock pulse and his balls tense and—
Caleb wakes up with a problem between his legs and damp sheets, and rushes to find an explanation before Gideon wakes up. Maybe he can get to the laundry on time? Hopefully?
How do you measure someone like Caleb?
A friend had asked you recently. Who was that beautiful, gorgeous man who had picked you up from a mock trial that the Hunter’s Association held for new recruits, sporting a silver necklace and a pilot’s uniform, hair slightly mussed from the rush of an unplanned flight and face slicked a dusty grey with oil and grease from a hasty repair made midway?
“What’s up, pipsqueak? Going all quiet isn’t gonna save you from answering the question, y’know. What’d you say to your friend instead of introducing me?” Caleb asks, hand in hand while he strolled down the hallways of other potential recruits, turning heads with that sharp uniform of his and bright eyes. That smile had to be choreographed, you knew it. How else could someone be so effortlessly charming, as a friend, as an elder brother, and as, dare you say it, the love of your life since you were kids? It must be a facade, surely, and sometimes, you think that you come close to seeing the edge of it, cracked the chiseled behind that princely attire and fathomless eyes, practically drinking in personality as if he could string them together for potential manipulation.
Caleb was like that. This, you have to be sure of. But back then, you couldn’t answer his question when he asked.
“You’re gege.” You shrug, knock your shoulder with his and lean up a bit to whisper in his ear, “But picking on younger recruits isn't good luck for a potential pilot you know. I could get you expelled from the DAA for this!”
“Who says I’m looking at anyone else but you?” Caleb laughs, and those warm eyes strike almost as harshly as his finger does against your forehead, firm but gentle. “Don’t go spreading baseless rumors around me now. None of ‘em are gonna stick. You’re not the first one to try.”
Caleb says things like this sometimes. Things that make you worry, and things that make you irrationally angry. Where Caleb has always been level-headed, you’ve always been brash. More of the type to take things for as they are, and start fights wherever you believed were needed, which ended up being more than half the time.
“Don’t take time off from the DAA just because you miss me.” You mutter, smoothing out the lines of his rumpled uniform. “Your attendance record gets worse and worse. What are you gonna do when I become a hunter and have to actually go out?”
“I’ll become your very own stay-at-home Caleb. How’s that sound?” He ruffles your hair, fingers lingering, near shameless, more scripted than anything at this point. Is he trying to convey tenderness, or feign remorse? You can never tell. He’s always too far ahead of you, and you hate it. “I’m kiddin’, don’t make that face, pipsqueak, you’ll make teasing you no fun. I promise, okay? I’ll hold myself back, even if it’s oh-so hard not to come running at your very beck and call. I mean, come on, what if someone happened today? You’d be without your gege, right?”
The sarcasm in his voice is thinly veiled. Caleb usually doesn’t mind when you tell him off, doesn’t mind anything you do when it comes to him actually, but when you mention him taking a more hands off approach to your already tangled relationship, his jaw clenches. His fingers go into his pockets, and his eyes tighten just a bit at the edges, crinkled with displeasure.
You decide not to push it further. Besides, there’s only so much time that a prospective pilot can take off, even if he’s the resident prince of the DAA and a prospective valedictorian candidate at that. He has better things to do than stay back to pamper his meimei.
“Have a safe flight.” You attempt, taking his wrists in your hands, thumbing over the underside of his hidden hands. “Don’t speed. I’ll know.”
“That’s not how planes work, pipsqueak.” Caleb seems to acquiesce, taking his hands out to wrap around yours. “How would you even know?”
“I just would.” A stubborn answer, but that’s the best you can come up with. A bit of hunger reminds you to remind him to eat, and a bit of fatigue tells you that you have to text him so that he knows that you’ll have a warm bed for him in Linkon ready at any time. “Off you go, Captain Caleb.”
“Roger that.” He salutes, laughing, and just like that, his smile is back, plastered on perfectly. You wish you could get through to his eyes, pull away the distance between you two that has been brewing ever since he left. “Caleb, signing off. ‘Till next time, Miss Hunter.”
When you were kids, Caleb would be the one to jump in whenever you got into fights with his bullies, mean, disgusting kids who mocked you both for not having proper parents. It was Caleb who wrapped his arms around you and took your punches.
“Do you feel better? Is that better?” He would ask, smiling gently at you while you battered his chest with your fists, screaming about how those kids wouldn’t learn their lesson if they weren’t taught through violence. Why would he protect the bullies that mocked your family, the family that you knew Caleb threw everything away for? He could go anywhere, have anyone, get adopted into any family he wanted with that pretty face of his and perfect mannerisms. You on the other hand were a reject, a kid too prone to fighting, a child made from misfortune and oddity.
How do you explain to someone what it’s like to be near someone like Caleb? Radiance becomes dulling, and somehow, spectacular descriptions like perfection and deification fall in comparison to him. Exaggeration doesn’t even come to compare. You can’t even bear to stay angry at him for long.
Caleb’s lucky the flight back is relatively short. You’d looked so incredibly cute in that mock hunter’s uniform, driving him up the wall with worry and pride alike. What’s a guy like him to do when you look like that, all excited and flushed with exertion after a mock hunter’s trial that’s definitely got you wrapped up in all sorts of trouble, with captive Wanderers that have no right even being near you, and competition that shouldn’t even be in the same room with you while out of breath. All of them might be sinners, but Caleb is the worst, palming at himself through his pants while coasting back to Skyhaven, one hand on the wheel and an eye to make sure the intercom is off, lest his grunts be heard through the system.
The things you do to him, he can’t even bear to voice. Your gege shouldn’t even be thinking such things about their meimei, but that flush on your cheeks had made him think about what it might be like to go slow and sweet and tender, lapping between your legs with a tongue that has only dreamed of being the first and best and only one to ever bring you pleasure, monetary, physical, and emotional.
Would you still throw your arms around his neck and kiss him goodbye under the ruse of making sure that none of his admirers at the DAA ever gave him a glance again? Who would ever, knowing that someone as perfect and angelic as you were were waiting at him in Linkon, waiting prim and pretty for him to come back and swoop you off your feet, just as long as he was able to get himself off in time to throw away those fantasies of being your one and only boyfriend before he was, and only was, your gege.
Planes can’t exactly speed, but Caleb takes an unauthorized shortcut through choppy winds to get back to Skyhaven faster. No one will know, and it’s not like he can’t handle some turbulence.
That night, Caleb dreams about liquor and spice, a taste of sugar over the rim of a glass and nectar past your lower lips as he laps at a leaking entrance belonging to his one and only. You might never be his, in reality or reverie, but he’s utterly yours. Be it for pleasure or peace, you have Caleb at your beck and call, and all you need to do is open your mouth, and in this case, spread your legs, and Caleb will come, tail between his legs and kneeling for a chance to please.
“Can I?” He whispers, voice lost in dreamlike slumber, made fuzzy with anticipation. The scent of your perfume is heavy as he sighs, nuzzling against your thigh like a dog, whimpering with the desperation of a pet. “Please? You know I’ll do well, right? I’ve worked so hard. You wouldn’t say no to me, right? Not like this, right?”
You cross your legs, haughty and childish at the same time, “Why should I? You left for the DAA. Didn’t even bother looking back, did you?”
“But I did it for us.” Caleb whines, lashes fluttering as he presses apologetic kisses along the column of your thigh, slow and sweet, always slow and sweet. He knows it’s a dream because it can’t be anything but. He knows it by the blurred lines of his vision, by how clouded your face looks in the dark of what appears to be a dream. He knows and takes anyway, because there’s no other way to fizzle reality enough for him to ever justify touching you in such sinful ways, wrought with selfishness. He knows because he can’t see your expression, because he’s never been once the recipient of your love.
He doesn’t know what you would look like if you loved him. His mind couldn’t even begin to conjure the image.
So he tells that it’s you by other ways. Your perfume, that scent of jasmine and seafoam, reminiscent of summer days, hydrangeas and pollen and dust. That much he can smell as he drags his nose up your leg. tracing the flesh of your thigh with the tip of his nose, reverent and gentle. “You know I had to, pipsqueak. We couldn’t afford things otherwise. You know that, right? Forgive me, yeah?”
Caleb doesn’t know why he becomes like this in bed. Doesn’t know why he turns into this questioning fool, asking for your approval as much as he begs for your love. He treads carefully over every interaction, every single microexpression your dream body makes since he’s robbed of the ability to see your face in his dreams.
He could do more. He could do so, so much. He could do anything you wanted, from bedroom activities to manual labor around the house. In the same way he could use his evol to restrain you in any way that you deemed pleasurable, he could use that same evol to make sure you never lifted a finger around his home. He’d make his lap your throne, and hand feed you breakfast, lunch and dinner from your perch, or he’d have himself as your permanent seat as you rode him into oblivion, even if he’s sure he’d pass out from just a few slow pumps from your pretty fingers.
He has to compensate for his sins somehow. May as well make himself useful.
The toring chip didn’t change much. He made sure of that. Colonel or not, he was still your Caleb, no matter how many times the chip embedded in his brain tried to make him out to be otherwise.
You nap in his home in Skyhaven on a rare week off, nestled into his chest, and it’s all the same, he swears, except things fit differently now. You press against his chest, face in between his pectorals, and he thinks he might lose his life right then and there, heart rate skyrocketing.
He clutches at nothing until he finds something, scrambling desperately at the bedsheets. You’ve gotten comfortable already, so much faster than usual. Usually it takes you at least seven minutes to figure out exactly how you want to lay on him, and he’s always worked on making himself a better pillow, whether than be strengthening his chest to make it more plush, or burning hours in training in until his arms filled out enough to blanket you comfortably. It’s only been three, four minutes, but one more minute and— it’s too late, his cock is already stirring to life, twitching with every single breath that you exhale over the expanse of his collarbones, sweet and soft and gentle, and everything that Caleb wants to be for you if you’d let him.
He shifts his hips back. You shift forward. He shifts back until he hits the wall, swallowing thickly and praying. No gods save him, because you shift forward, centimeters away from the rising hardness that Caleb can’t exactly just will away.
He’s cum without touching himself before. Once, when he caught you changing through the camera he installed in your room back in Linkon, but countless times if you could the dreams that he has about kissing you, but he considers that it would be the most horrific moral failing ever if he cums in his pants from having you breathe like that, like you’re comfortable with him so soon after the entire escapade with the Farspace Fleet. What did he do to deserve this? Maybe the punishment is how your thigh is sliding forward, brushing against his dick so that it obediently spills out precum, wetting the inside of his pants shamefully, deliciously. His hips buck, seeking friction from the inside of his pants, clumsily knocking against your thigh, eliciting a silent whine from him as his eyes roll back when your leg grazes his sack and practically fondles his balls.
So soft. So, so soft, it’s like divinity breathed angelic plushness to your legs, and he’s fallen for you all again, setting his back firmly against the wall to make sure he doesn’t let his disobedient hips jolt forward again. His body has always belonged to you. It makes sense that it no longer listens to him.
It takes a while to fall asleep.
Some dreams are more humiliating than others. All you had to do was scroll on your phone and let him catch a glimpse of a model on your instagram, faceless, flexing slightly to show off their back and pecs, and he snags a snippet of your physical type.
You’re straddling his waist in this dream, legs slotted against his v-line, sliding up and down, up and down until he’s drooling, wondering why you’re not wet and how he can get you there.
“Let me.” He exhales shakily, reaching out to grasp your hips, stalled only by your diminutive glare, clear even though your features are hazy. Immediately, he freezes, hands going slack and falling to his side as he lays there.
Your fingers grasp the flesh of one of his tits, sinking slightly, and he sucks in a sharp breath, hips bucking. You’re stronger than you look, always have been, and your single free hand is enough to shove his hip back into place on the bed, and he understands not to act out again.
“Use me, use me, command me, I’ll let you do anything, you know that. Go on, take, I won’t— uunngh, pleas-, ah— you know I won’t say no, so don’t hold back.” Caleb throws his head back, restraining himself, the edge of his sentence tapering out in a whiny gasp, lilting towards a whimper. He’s bare while you’re fully clothed, shamefully stripped of his dignity while you hover above him, bored as you reach up to play with both of his tits, massaging the flesh as if conducting to survey of used goods.
“No one else has!” He declares vehemently, desperate as he reads your body language, displeased with his visage. “Come on, pipsqueak, I’d never. I’d never, I’m yours, I’m completely yours, this body is yours, just take it— hnngh?!”
You bring your hand down, spanking the flesh of his tits horizontally so that they give a firm bounce. His nipples harden embarrassingly fast, growing red with the force of your strike, blossoming further when you tug on his nipples and pull.
“Are these boobs big enough for this?” You muse idly, tugging his nipples towards each other. “I wonder… Caleb, gege, you worked out just for this, right? Just for me to play with you like this? Make it better for me. Make it pretty.”
Caleb nods dumbly, tongue lolling out with earnestness as he sits up, bringing arms together so that his biceps shove his pecs together until the fat presses against each other erotically, forming faux cleavage. He keeps the pose, pushing his arms up a bit as if to present you his tits, looking up at you with big eyes, whimpering in the back of his throat, saying ‘is this good enough? Is this pretty enough? Give me a reward, won’t you? I worked so hard for you. It’s nice, right? Praise me look at me love me—’
“They look so heavy.” You tease, and Caleb thinks he can see a fragment of your expression, of his meiemei’s wonderfully sweet expression, the same one you always use when you tease him with some pop media reference that he doesn’t understand because he’s too busy these days.
“Don’t.” He groans, exasperated as he shifts his legs, trying to get comfortable again. “I don’t— you know what you’re doing.”
“I just wanted to ask if you wanted help holding them.” You laugh, pinching his cheek with one hand and tugging on a pert nipple with the other, pain and pleasure contrasting to bubble into a delighted sigh from deep inside his chest as he nuzzles into your hand, pressing quick kisses to the inside of your wrist.
“They’re yours.” Caleb presses his arms together tighter, squishing his boobs against each other and lifting his chin a little, tilting his head. “Think you can handle ‘em?”
You bury your face between his tits and Caleb wakes up.
God fuck, this is getting out of hand. He uses his evol to lift your hand from his waist from where you both were napping and excuses himself to the bathroom.
You sit up in frustration as he runs off to the bathroom. What did you do wrong?! Fondled his balls with your thigh, check. Kneed at his dick, check. Ran your hands over his chest, check. Blew seductively over his exposed collarbones, check. You saw his dick get impossibly hard while he fell asleep, and obviously did what every other self respecting Hunter would do in the situation by accessing the danger and measuring the capacity by innocently and fairly imagining him sticking the entire thing and its whatever or so inches completely up your cunt until you’re full and home—
And just like that, he’s back. You put on a bleary expression, acting sleepy, but he ruffles your hair as if completely unbothered. “Been up for a while?”
“You still kick in your sleep.” You deadpan, dropping the act and putting on another one, falling back into the covers. “I’m injured! It hurts, gege! Medical fees need your attention. We’ll be contacting you soon. Do I have permission to send the bill to this address?”
“What have I done, kicking you in my sleep?! What a horrible crime I’ve committed.” Caleb laments, squishing your cheeks and nodding with mock sincerity. “Could I pay the bill in other ways?” He slides back into bed, cradling your waist in his hands.
This is it. Finally gonna have the chance to taste his cock—
“Like…” Caleb purrs, before flicking your forehead. “How’s breakfast in bed sound, hm?”
Fuck.
5.
Caleb sees you walking with a coworker home and absolutely loses it.
He can’t take it out on his precious meimei, no, no, absolutely not. He would never do that. He sits in his dreams, eyes hazed over with submission, tongue lolling out, saliva dripping as he waits for orders, collared and pretty and ready.
You circle around him, trailing a finger over his shoulders, appraising the goods like always, and Caleb retracts his tongue and sits up straight, forgetting his willingness to beg for a second to look like a more alluring pet, proud with practiced obedience. He lowers himself onto his haunches, rises on his front paws, and for once, stops wagging his metaphorical tail and looks straight at you, asking for a chance, just a single opportunity to make you happy. Why none of his dreams ever end up in the sweet taking that he conjures up every time he so much as thinks up of a fantasy, he doesn’t know. His treachery, his betrayal, or the weight of his sins, be they all the deterrents to what he really wants: a slow, tender fucking that ends with your final approval of his much practiced services, and maybe a long session of loving aftercare as well.
But this is a dream that goes haywire, and you tug on his hair from behind, forcing him to expose his neck, and drawing a choked ‘haaah’ from him. He goes still, relaxing his shoulders, letting his weight pull forward so that the pain stings more, makes sure to exaggerate the arch of his back and the line of his throat to make things visually appealing. You love pretty things with a passion, and Caleb is nothing but an unworthy worshipper in line to be one of your most rewarded treasures.
Is it not enough? Caleb both drowns in and revels within your distaste, the way your eyes rove over his body, pulled tight with leather restraints so that his teats protrude lewdly, nipples already hardened with excitement, arms bound behind his back. The leather binds his hips, crisscrosses over his legs so that he’s left baring himself and the bulge in his tight pants.
You move around him. “How’s it feel being the one interrogated for once?”
Caleb laughs. “Honestly? Heavenly. Keep at it, and I might be lining up for one of these every other day. I’m the only one who gets this sort of treatment, right?”
“That’s not exactly the point of all this.” You quip back, stepping on his chest. Immediately, he shifts his hips back to give you a flatter stepping surface, presenting his chest upwards and his hips forward. You respond by trailing your heel down over his abdomen, trailing over his muscles until you reach his cock, aching against the fabric and twitching obediently at your touch. “Freak.”
“For you, yeah.” Caleb exhales dreamily, opening his legs for better access, displaying his dick. “What, is it that bad? Don’t tell me you don’t like it. You’re into this, aren’t-cha?”
“It’s not horrible, I guess.” You sigh, nonchalant as you trace your heel down his chest, between his pecs and down towards his abs, stopping at the hem of his pants. His belt is already unbuckled by some phantom memory present in another part of a forgotten dream, pulled open to reveal his boxers and the growing wetness on them. “Could be better.”
“Then tell me how to make it better.” Caleb kneels, spreading his legs and bucking his hips. It’s almost pornographic, the way he subverts his own pride and dignity to put on an appeasing show for you. “I’ll do anything.”
“How about…” You drawl, sighing lazily as you finally press your heel down on his cock, toying with the tip. It’s a gentle, thin line between pain and pleasure, and Caleb doesn’t know if he wants you to rub or shove your heel into him so that he finally gets the punishment he deserves. “We get you clothed. Put you back in that nice Colonel uniform you’ve got, except…”
He swallows as you grin, grinding the heel of your foot lightly against his cock, drawing a sharp whine from him and a salacious amount of precum dribbling from his tip, beading through the fabric of his boxers. “We put a little ring on you so you remember me, because I’ve been feeling just a little neglected these days. You know how it is.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been working so much—”
“I didn’t ask for an explanation.” You cut him off, and his whole body rings with electric exhilaration, absolutely thrilled by your command as he clamps his mouth shut and sucks to avoid drooling. Your fingers finally grace the outline of his cock, and you draw your fingers over the shaft, up and over the line of his boxers before pulling them down. Shamefully, obediently, his cock springs free, slapping against his abdomen in haste and drawing a hazy line of precum.
He swallows thickly, barely able to exhale with how he’s trying not to whine, but you haven’t allowed him to speak just yet, so he stares and begs with his eyes instead for another order.
In lieu of answering him, you slide the cock ring over the head of his cock, teasing under the tip before nestling it snug against his balls. The tension is agonizing, and the cool metal makes for a second level of stimulation across from the sweet warmth of your gloved fingertips over the sensitive skin of his cock.
“Please.” Caleb whimpers, legs shaking until they give out, causing him to fall back against the wall, staring helplessly as you zip him back up into his pants. “I haven’t even— meimei, please, at least give me a chance to touch you—”
Gently, you untie his restraints and put the leather away, petting his head. “Good luck, gege. Report back to me with results after work.”
He wakes up painfully hard, no cock ring in sight. For the remainder of the day, the Colonel of the Farspace Fleet does his job sitting down, and no one thinks to question him.