Chapter Text
A weak sound of pain pounds at the back of Rumi’s teeth. She tosses and turns, struggling to sleep. Struggling to get comfortable. It’s impossible to just exist without being in pain. Groggy from the little amount of sleep she did manage to get, it takes several long, arduous moments for her to realize what the problem is. When she does, her eyes snap open and her stomach plunges with cold dread.
It’s a throbbing. It’s a burning. It’s an ache. She wants and wants and wants .
Rumi whines quietly and rolls onto her back, panting despite having just woken up. Sweat coalesces at her brow, her lower back, her thighs. It drips down her temple along her cheek, and Rumi squeezes her eyes tightly.
“This can’t be happening,” she whispers to the empty room.
In the past when this issue had arisen, Rumi would just take care of it. One or two quick sessions and she’d be fine for the day. Come nighttime, she’d tend to it again, but it was over and done with quickly.
This feels different. She just knows , somehow, that this is worse than it's ever been.
Desperate, Rumi reaches down, splaying her hand over her stomach and under her waistband, pulling out her throbbing, aching cock. She doesn’t even look at it as she wraps her hand around its base, moving up to gather pre-cum on her hand and then pumping her fist down. She doesn't need to look, not when she's done this hundreds of times. Not when she has to screw her eyes shut so tight because the pressure is pounding in her skull.
When her hand catches on her underwear and her shirt on a downstroke, she tries to ignore it. The material rustles and shifts against her and it's all too much . Rumi jerks her shirt up her body, catching it between her teeth. Her other hand hooks in her waistband and holds it down so she has free motion with her hand.
Rumi’s hips jolt and jerk as she moves around, pumping herself on her hand. She sets a grueling pace, and Rumi whines and groans behind her shirt in her mouth. She’s drooling all over it, and in the back of her mind it makes her reel with how uncouth it is, but she doesn’t have the energy to focus on it.
Not when her arm is starting to ache and burn and tire and the feeling of pain has only worsened. Rumi fears she’ll be here until the sun comes up, struggling and failing to fuck herself to satisfaction.
“Fuck.” Rumi releases her shirt and growls quietly.
Sitting up, she yanks it over her head and throws it aside. Her sheets are tangled around her legs and she kicks them away, shoving her pants down her legs next and throwing them aside. Dripping and throbbing, her cock stands up proudly in her hand and Rumi snarls at it for its needs.
Rolling out of bed she reaches deep into a bedside drawer, pulling out a toy she is only far too grateful for that nobody has found. From the drawer she grabs a bottle of lube, too, taking a moment to squirt a generous amount into the toy.
Resituating herself, Rumi kneels on her bed, somewhat diagonal across it, not entirely paying attention to how she is settling. She just needs to satisfy this want. This ache. Desire.
After that, she’ll clean up and go about her day.
If she can just -
Rumi tilts her head back and sighs in relief as she pushes her pulsing cock into the fleshlight. The pressure from all sides brings a modicum of relief. Rumi swallows thickly and pumps into it once, twice, looking down to watch it move.
Instant dissatisfaction fills her.
It’s not real. It’s not a body beneath her begging to be used. It’s not what she wants.
These thoughts circle her mind and Rumi makes a pathetic sound of complaint. Raising her bent arm, she falls forward onto her knees and elbow, back arched and other hand wrapped tightly around the toy to keep it in place. Rumi starts thrusting, closing her eyes tightly and hoping her imagination will satisfy her enough.
Rumi pictures a woman beneath her, willing and all too happy to satisfy her. She imagines kneeling between her legs, thrusting into her, taking her as she sees fit. It's not the same to fuck the toy as she imagines entering a woman's warmth. It's not the same and tonight she can't force herself to pretend it is, no matter how many times she screws her eyes shut and tries again and again.
Please , she thinks, it’s worked before . It’s never been this difficult to get rid of, before.
Now, though, bright patterns burn all along her arms and there’s a different kind of power in her every breath. With power comes a downfall, and this seems to be hers.
Pathetically humping the toy with her eyes squeezed shut, Rumi doesn’t hear the first knock. Or the second. What she does hear is the soft intake of breath, paired with the soft yellow glow of the hallway light as her door is opened.
Rumi opens her delirious eyes, already facing the door. She must look a mess. Cheeks flushed, drool from earlier smeared across her mouth. Eyes hazy. Body trembling with desire, want, a burning intensity that she cannot shake.
She can’t stop herself, her mind is drifting away from her with the agony of being denied pleasure, she doesn’t stop her hips from moving. Her arm shakes from holding the toy so tightly and her hips stutter in exhaustion, but she doesn’t stop.
Mira, standing in the doorway, doesn’t pick her jaw up for a second or two. She takes in the sight before her and then locks eyes with Rumi.
“Rumi, what.. . “ She trails off, stepping further into the room.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Rumi is surprised. Somewhere deeper, darker, she wonders if she can convince Mira to help her.
“Get out,” she says instead, hiding her face into her messy sheets. Rumi fights with herself to stop moving, this is her friend, her bandmate, her dearest companion. She can’t be doing this. Not now. “Mira, I’m not -”
“What? Okay? Yeah, that’s obvious,” Mira interrupts, closer than before.
Rumi picks her head up enough to see, her cheek pressing into the mattress. Mira is right beside the bed, eyeing her with sympathy. She makes a conflicted expression and then looks into Rumi’s eyes again.
“Listen, you’re clearly in a lot of pain, I . . . I don’t know how I can, but let me help you, Rumi,” Mira offers.
The words make her throb and twitch, and Rumi grunts as she thrusts harder into the toy.
“I can’t ask that of you. Mira, please, get out, I’ll handle this,” Rumi insists. She closed her eyes, somewhat in embarrassment, somewhat to try and pretend this isn’t happening.
To pretend that she is not on her shoulder and knees in front of one of her closest friends humping a toy dripping with her desires.
“Rumi. . .” Mira says, closer still. “Rumi, look at me.”
Through a great internal debate involving embarrassment and shame, Rumi does open her eyes. She bites her lip to contain her moan, and Mira searches her eyes for a few moments. It takes some time for her want-addled brain to realize it, but Rumi sees desire burning in her eyes.
“Please,” Rumi eventually whispers.
Mira’s eyes sharpen and she nods, standing up and stepping back. Rumi whines, but the sound falls dead as Mira takes her shirt off with one arm and steps out of her pants, leaving her naked. Rumi doesn’t get the opportunity to admire her in this context before Mira is kneeling onto the bed and grabbing her by the shoulder.
The simple touch against her shoulder makes her shudder and whimper, and Mira softens her grip.
“I’m going to put you on your back, okay?" Mira asks, and Rumi nods vehemently, beginning to turn.
Helping her, Mira settles over her legs and looks her up and down. The woman pauses whatever she was doing, tracing Rumi’s patterns that reflect in Mira’s eyes with their subtle light. Rumi’s cock throbs again and she whines, jutting her chin into the air and panting, trying to contain herself from thrusting up.
“Poor baby,” Mira tuts. “Let me take care of you.”
“Oh, fuck, please. Please, please, please.” Rumi begs immediately, distantly ashamed of how fast she’s given up any and all pretenses.
She needs this, there is no more denying it. It is no longer a want. An aching desire that she can pretend doesn't exist. No. If Rumi doesn't get something soon, she will go mad. Absolutely deranged, and she doesn't want to know what she will do, then.
Mira grabs her wrist and urges her to pull the toy off her cock. Rumi gasps at the feeling, handing it over to Mira and hearing it thump to the ground shortly after. The bed dips and shifts and Rumi picks up her head, about to say one more time that she needn’t -
“Oh my god!” Rumi bellows, groaning and twitching, shuddering under her.
Her hands fly to Mira’s hips, grabbing her tightly. Mira hisses and grabs her wrist, pulling her away and Rumi carefully relaxes her grip.
Without any warning at all, Mira has taken Rumi’s needing , dripping cock into her throbbing, welcoming cunt. Rumi sees stars behind her eyes as she squeezes them shut, adjusting to the sensation. Mira's different than sliding into the toy. Softer. Warmer. Tighter.
Swallowing thickly, Rumi flexes her hands. It's taking every bit of strength she has to hold herself back. To stop herself from turning their positions and driving her cock into her hard enough to break them both. Instead, she manages to contain herself. As gently as she can, she urges Mira up and down, helping her fuck herself on her cock.
“ Fuck , Rumi,” Mira curses.
Rumi forces her head up, watching Mira rise up and down on her. Something catches in her throat and Rumi forces it out with a groan, rolling her hips. Mira moans and lets her head fall back, a little, exposing the length of her neck, her hair falling around her shoulders.
One of Miras hands rests on the top of her thigh, the other relaxes and tenses right above Rumis groin. Her fingers splay across Rumis skin with every downstroke and drag towards her each time she rises up. Miras chest heaves, steadily turning red as they continue. Rumi swallows thickly at the sight of her, at the beautiful, imposing, put together Mira riding her cock. Tits jostling and face contorted in ecstasy.
This is better than any fantasy Rumi could've ever come up with.
“I didn’t know you’d be this big,” Mira adds.
The phrase flips something. A part of Rumi she’s long since kept on a leash, kept collared and contained, stirs. It lifts its head and perks up, waking for the first time. Rumi whines and bites her lip, struggling to reel herself back in. She doesn’t dare say a thing, fearing she might ruin this.
“You feel so good, Rumi,” Mira groans.
An answering, weak moan is all Rumi can manage, feeling herself begin to unravel. Her thrusts slow but deepen as she tries to contain herself but that lumbering beast overpowers her. Her hands loosen and then roam inwards instead, wandering towards Mira’s cunt.
She tries to warn Mira that they should stop, that this might be about to get out of hand, and instead, a low but deep animalistic snarl peels her teeth back and rumbles in the air. It's similar to a sound she's only heard come from demons , and both of them shiver in an echo of dread, or fear, at its echoing.
Mira stills and looks down at her, Rumi’s shallow but deep thrusts still jostling her. They lock eyes and Mira swallows.
“I can see why you think you should handle this yourself,” Mira says.
The hope that had built itself up in Rumi crumbles ever so slightly. That sounds a lot like she’s being denied. Like she’s just ruined their friendship with this.
Leaning forward, Mira splays her hand on Rumi’s chest and leans down to hover scant centimeters from her face.
“I’m here to help you, Rumi,” she says. “However that may be. . .” Mira looks down at her lips and back up. “I trust you.”
Rumi needs to warn her. To tell her not say things like that. To let her know that she's losing control of herself. To stop this before it gets out of hand, before their friendship is irreparably damaged.
“Mira,” Rumi brokenly chokes out.
Reigning in the beast is taking every last bit of energy she has. Rumi is about to break, she’s about to fall apart. She’s about to ruin Mira and she doesn’t want to. If Mira is offering to help she wants to make this pleasurable for both of them, she can’t just do -
“Do what you need to do, Rumi, I trust you,” Mira says.
The floodgates open. The wants and needs Rumi has been keeping locked up this entire time rush out. Like a dam that’s been sitting for decades, everything spills. All of her restraint and perfectly curated control flies out with the well of her desire and need.
Rumi, now, can only steer the beast in a direction, she no longer has control over what she does specifically.
A startled sound strangles out of Mira’s throat as Rumi grabs her by the shoulder and lurches up. Moving Mira and rolling, Rumi switches their positions so she’s kneeling over Mira and between her legs. Mira grabs her, wrapping her arms around her neck and holding on tight as Rumi buries her face in her neck and grabs her thighs. Splaying her hands on the backs of her thighs, Rumi folds Mira in half and snarls as she gets to work.
The shaking, trembling mess she had been is replaced instead by an insatiable, ravenous being that is completely renewed. Beneath her, Mira tries to contain her moans, but they slowly build up in volume and pitch. Rising from the low, soft timber into a sharp, pleased squeak as she begins raking blunt nails over her back.
Thrusting into Mira is better than whatever the toy had been offering her.
Mira clenches down on her, perfectly wrapping around her throbbing cock. When Rumi pulls out, Mira tries to keep her within, holding her tightly. Rumi thrusts into her, nearly bottoming out, and Mira welcomes her. The heat of her cunt soothes the roaring fire within her, matching her perfectly.
On top of it all; she’s dripping wet .
Rumi’s thighs are coated in her slick in seconds, and she scrapes her teeth over Mira’s neck, nibbling at her. Mira’s nails press harder into her shoulderblades and Rumi arches into her, quickening her pace. She can’t stop herself. She doesn’t want to. Mira doesn’t want her to.
Judging by the pleased sounds she’s making, Mira doesn’t want her to even think about stopping.
“Fuck - Rumi !” Mira cries out, her body tensing and shuddering.
Rumi snarls, proud to witness and hear her orgasm. Mira gasps and twitches beneath her, her pussy tightening repeatedly around her cock that isn’t slowing, not even a little bit. Mira whines high and broken and Rumi thinks one orgasm bleeds into the next.
It’s nonstop, and she growls and snarls louder, quickening her pace, trying to reach deeper and deeper into her.
“Zo-ey!” Mira yells out, and the different name gives her pause, just for a moment.
Rumi lifts her head, her hair frazzled and framing either side of her face. In her peripheral vision she notices a shadow approaching from down the hall. Rumi finishes her paused downstroke and dives back into Mira. She’s not done yet, not even close, her poor aching cock still needs more.
“What is the - oh !” Zoey’s voice filters in, and Rumi tunes out whatever Mira replies with.
She’s happy here. Needed here. Wanted here. Here is where she will stay, pleasuring and giving and providing. She will get her own satisfaction at some point. Rumi knows she’ll get it at some time.
Not now, though, not now. Now it is for Mira. Mira who is helping her. Wrapped around her in every way. Pleasing her.
“Rumi, come here, sweetie.” Hands grab at her shoulders from behind, lifting her body up.
Mouth hanging open as she pants, Rumi sits up into a kneeling position, her hands clenching down on the back of pale, beautifully lithe thighs. A cool hand presses against her cheek, pulling her towards - Zoey, it’s Zoey in front of her with big sympathetic and knowing eyes.
“Do you want help?” Zoey asks, eyes wandering her face.
Rumi thrusts particularly hard and deep, and smiles at the resounding yelp.
“Yes,” Rumi accepts. “Please,” she adds.