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You jolt awake to gloved fingers dancing along your body.
Several months ago, you would’ve used your Vital Instrument to beat the hell out of whoever was touching you in your sleep, but now all you do is groan and shove irritably at the familiar face bending over your person. “Mmmfrgh—we’ve TALKED about this.”
“Hey hey, it’s almost time for the Doll Fest!!!” August hollers into your ear, cheerfully running his hands up down your torso. Your bare torso, mind you. “I have to get your measurements!!! For your costume!!!”
You sigh heavily. Your Vital Instrument flickers invitingly at the peripheral of your vision, but you tamp down on your instinctual urge to wreck August’s shit and instead prop yourself up in your bed. The idiot isn’t being shy tonight; he’s all but straddling you as he frames you with his fingers, those stupid red shades of his blazing in the dark. His baggy pants rustle softly against the thin surface of your singular blanket as his surprisingly dense weight pushes you back against your mattress.
“You have my measurements, dumbass,” you grouse as you try to get your bearings. The ends of his stupid long hair tickle your face. “Or did you forget to write ‘em down?”
August cackles. “Haaah! It’s been a whole year, ya know!!! You’re not as skinny as before!!! I gotta update my specs!” His hand skims the edge of your breast.
Your breath catches before you roll your eyes, grinning despite yourself. “You’ve really gotten lousy with your excuses, August.”
In one fluid-smooth movement, you hook your leg around August’s waist and swiftly flip him until he crashes into your mattress beside you. His head thumps against your pillow and the breath leaves his lungs in a big whoosh, and you grin as you lift your chin triumphantly, one bare thigh bracketing his hips while your knee presses against his pants.
“Wow! You’ve gotten killer at that!” August says with admiration, his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t stand a chance, yo!”
“No, you didn’t,” you say with a sniff of exaggerated hauteur.
With August lying bodily beside you, the temperature of the room changes. Both of you study each other in the dark. He’s still smiling, that easy grin of his softening the features of his face, and in his fall those bright-red shades have gone askew over his forehead. He blinks unfairly long lashes at you as you reach forward to slip the shades off of his face and toss them onto your rickety nightstand. There, you think to yourself. Now I have his eyes to myself.
August is already running his mouth again. “You know, I really wasn’t planning on staying long! Was really just trying to measure you!”
“Uh-huh.” You’re not convinced, not with how he’s shamelessly admiring you up close. You’re suddenly aware of your bare skin, the thin fabric of your worn undergarments, and the bird’s nest of your hair. Still, you’re proud of your muscled physique, the result of thankless months of fighting and training, and as August’s eyes roam over the valley between your breasts, your taut belly, and the flare of your hips, you take one of his hands and guide it to your hips.
August finally stops yapping. His thumb, rough underneath the thickness of whatever his glove’s made out of, immediately strokes the exposed skin of your waist.
You prop your head up on your hand. “Care to keep sizin’ me up?”
“Kinda already did that, babe!” August informs you cheerfully. He makes no effort to stop caressing the curve of your hip, though, and you raise an eyebrow even as gooseflesh follows in the wake of his gloved fingers. When he reaches the juncture of your thighs, his thumb swooping a teasing stripe across the seam of your panties, your hand shoots out to grab his wrist.
Your voice is sharp with warning. “If you put that glove inside of me—”
“Baby,” August says with a grin, “I do my best work with these suckers on, don’t ya remember?”
A vivid memory of writhing on August’s worktable flashes on your mind and your cheeks flush scarlet even as your insides immediately pool with desire.
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” you bark. “I’ve seen what you’ve touched with those things and I’d rather not get all that jammed up my insides.”
“Pooh! Worrywart,” August huffs, but he obligingly bites a corner of his pointer finger and tugs off the offending glove in question. “Happy?”
Your eyes darken when you see his bare hand and blunt fingers. “Much more.”
He beams, teeth white and shiny in the dark. August caresses you with familiar ease; the pressure of his hands coaxes soft sighs from you as he rolls you onto your back. A shiver runs down your spine as he slips his hand into your underwear and then you jolt as he boldly cups your sex. “Shitfuck—!”
“Whoops, should probably go slower, huh!” Despite his cheery observation, August continues probing until he finds your core again, hot, pulsing, and tight. He whistles. “Whew! But you’re drippin’ for me already!”
“Shut up, asshole.” Your hand clamps down on his wrist as your hips begin to move against him. “It’s your fault for—ngh—for coming into my room uninvited.”
“Nah! I think it’s your fault for leavin’ your door unlocked!” August tells you with a wide-toothed grin as he pushes into you. “You’re not a newbie, babe! What’s a guy supposed to think when he sees your door all the way open, huh?! You were practically begging for me to pay you a visit!”
“Fuck off,” you gasp as he adds a second finger. He’s rougher and thicker than your hands have ever been and you curl in on yourself as they scrape deliciously against your wet inner walls. “You just wanted an excuse to feel me uaugh—!”
August’s grin is devilish as he watches your hips buck violently. “What’s that?! Didn’t catch what you said there!”
“You asshole!” you hiss at him, but your voice is strangled and he’s moving his fingers inside of you with deft if not teasing efficiency. His other hand reaches out, still gloved, and grips your wriggling hips to keep you from moving. He’s a tease, always has been, and you find yourself gritting your teeth to keep the whimpers building in your chest from spilling out. But August catches the promise of a moan on your lips.
“You’re as bad as baby Eishia,” he remarks thoughtfully, shifting beside you. Before you can catch your breath to rail at August for bringing up his little frickin’ sister when he’s several knuckles deep inside of you, he thumbs your clit.
Your head snaps back at a concernedly fast speed as your voice cracks on August’s name, and his teeth flash in the dark as he watches you flail in pleasure.
“Betcha liked that, huh!” August cackles with no small measure of smugness. “See what happens when you got me in your corner?!”
“Fuckin' shit fuck of a trash beast—”
“That ain’t me, babe!” He leans in, the ends of his hair pooling on your pillow as you gasp deeper and faster. He palms your ass, working your panties down for better access. His voice, though it still curves on a smile, sharpens. “Come on. Gotta say my name proper.”
“August—” you pant, squirming as he adds a third finger and palms your clit. “Fuck—August—”
“Yeah, like that,” he breathes, watching you as you begin falling apart on his hand. His forehead knocks against yours as he nuzzles your neck, breathing you in. “Come on, come on—”
His longest finger crooks inside of you and you gasp as your hips arch off the mattress. The tight knot of your building pleasure unwinds all at once, and your voice chokes off on a garbled approximation of August’s name. He holds you in place as you ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm, his expression infuriatingly self-satisfied as your breathing hitches and heaves. You’ve never been particularly loud during sex, but your throat feels punched out as you drift back down to yourself. Eventually, you’re coherent enough to register that August has begun kissing down the side of your neck.
Thank goodness Zanka’s a beast of a training partner, because it doesn’t take long for you to get enough breath into your lungs to gasp out: “gonna…gonna try mapping me out with…hah…with your mouth next…?”
“Mmmggh,” August groans against your throat, “thought you’d never aaaask.”
He withdraws his hand, eliciting a whimper from your lips as your cunt clenches down on aching emptiness, and draws slick up your belly as he tongues the column of your throat. You kick off your tangled panties and stretch luxuriously as he deepens his ministrations. Your hand, with nothing better to do, winds itself into August’s long hair and tugs, and he moans unabashedly into your skin. He’s a loudmouth, in every sense of the word, and you kick him at a particularly high-pitched whine because Semiu shares a wall with you and you’d never hear the end of it if you two wake her up.
“You’re overdressed,” you inform him as his headphones squish between your necks. Tinny music trills from the speakers; you recognize one of Too Lily’s louder singles. “Come on; get your clothes off.”
“Don’t want to!” August demurs easily as he licks at your collarbone. “Here’s an idea! You should get yours off instead!”
You snort. “I’m literally naked right now.”
“Not really!” he bites at your bra strap. “Gotta get this offa you!”
“You have your shoes on in my bed!”
“D’you wanna come again or what?”
You blink at his sudden bluntness, but then August looks you right in the eye and licks his damp fingers clean with a lazy swipe of his tongue. Okay, bastard’s not playing fair tonight. You seethe, but your Vital Instrument starts rattling eagerly against your nightstand. Anima never lies, and August’s bright eyes slide from you to your weapon with a knowing expression.
“Thought so!” he hums, and his grin widens when you groan in mingled exasperation and arousal and reach back to loosen your bra.
Once you’ve thrown the offending garment to the side, August crawls back on top of you, mirroring his stance from when you first discovered him in your room. He smirks in wanton satisfaction when you go pliant underneath him. His gloved hand trails down your side and holds you firmly in place as he lowers down to nuzzle between your breasts.
“Missed these babies!” His voice comes out muffled, and you whack half-heartedly at his broad shoulders.
“For someone with such a big mouth, you’re doing shit with it—” Your complaint trails off in a startled moan when August starts kissing down your sternum, his bare hand toying and plucking at your nipples. He cackles softly against your belly button and licks a broad stripe across the very bottom of your belly, where your muscles bunch and loosen intermittently.
“You’re not as skinny as before,” he says, and you have half a mind to kick him in the balls before his hand comes down to gently caress your torso. Your breath hitches when understanding dawns on you. Your ribs aren’t as pronounced as when you had first arrived at the Cleaners’ headquarters, half-starved and clinging to what had become your Vital Instrument for support. You’re healthy now, or at least as healthy as anyone can be on the trash-ridden Ground, and August’s happy about it, though he might not say it aloud.
You stroke his hair. “I’m not,” you agree. “I’m a lot better now.”
August is quiet against you, his exhales skittering across your bare stomach.
Mischief taints your voice when you speak up again. “It’s because I steal your snacks.”
“Hah?!” August whips up to stare at you. “Huh?! When?! Why?!”
“Every now and then,” you admit, smiling as that strange, slightly charged silence breaks in the wake of August’s usual fuss. “Because they’re good, even if they’re disgusting sometimes.”
“Babyyyy!” August whines against you, clutching your hips. “My life! My treasure! You hurt me!! You break my heart!”
You’re laughing and shoving gently at his head before he whips his gaze up to glare at you, his melodrama hardening into ruby determination. “Guess I’ll have to eat ya out instead.”
You shiver. “Shit, August. We need to work on your timing.”
“Nah. I’m real bad with deadlines, anyway,” August acknowledges cheerfully, and then he parts your thighs.
Every word of protest, indignation, or alarm fades away at the first swipe of his tongue against your center. Your head knocks back into the mattress at a concerning speed as August proceeds to make good on his word with exuberant if not dedicated enthusiasm. Your ankles thump against his back as he hikes your thigh further up his shoulder for better access, and this time you actually do cry out as August laps at your core with a tongue accustomed to frequent and animated activity. He sucks at your core, drawing out a startled moan from your lips, and you feel more than hear his answering hum in response.
He’s good at this sort of thing. Hell, he’s fantastic at it, typical of anything that August Stilza puts his mind to, and at the moment that happens to be you and your building pleasure evident in every helpless buck of your hips. Your hands flail before you sink them deep into wheat-colored hair, and August groans against you as he kisses and licks broad stripes of damp, probing heat into your throbbing, dripping cunt. You’re getting close again, you can feel it, the point of your desire sharpening into an edge that saws at the pit of your stomach, and you distantly hear a voice chanting August’s name over and over again until you belatedly realize that it belongs to you.
Sorry, Semiu, a tiny part of your brain whispers while everything else sings yes yes yes August there there there please please pleASE—
Your release rips through you with such intensity it almost hurts, your brain whiting out until you’re sobbing in mingled relief and pleasure. Your mouth opens and closes dumbly before oversensitivity jolts through and you look down in shock.
“W-wait, August,” you stammer as he shamelessly buries his face further inside of you, “wait—I can’t—”
“One more,” August resurfaces to plead. His face is wet with your slick, his dark pupils blown wide with want. He hunches over you. “One more, please—”
You realize he’s rutting into the mattress as he watches you chase your own pleasure. Something about that sight is so mind-blowingly erotic that your stomach pitches low and your cunt clenches. “Oh, fuck, August!!!—”
August moans into you as he grips your wrist. Blunt fingernails from his bare hand puncture scarlet crescents into your skin, but the pain only whets your appetite and your voice cracks on increasingly urgent cries. He laves at your swollen clit and you come so hard you see stars. Distantly, you hear your Vital Instrument clatter onto the floor as August continues to lap at your weeping slit; you two have definitely woken Semiu up by now but at this point you’re too wrung out to care. You release August’s hair as he eases from you; you hear him swear under his breath as he drinks in the sight of you, blissed and thoroughly debauched before him.
“I want to live in you forever,” he groans.
You manage to huff out a laugh between open-mouthed pants. “I wouldn’t be against that.”
When August clambers to his feet, you notice he’s still hard, but when you make half a motion towards him, August shakes his head and just crawls into bed beside you. You register with some relief that he has finally kicked off his sandals and you offer up your mouth to be kissed.
“I guess this means I should leave my door open more often,” you murmur against his mouth as he cups your face.
August screws open an eye to look at you. “Probably! But I told you that I really did want to measure you this time!!”
“August, the Doll Festival is tomorrow,” you remind him. “Today, actually, if we want to be technical. As much as I adore you, even you can’t finish a full costume in that amount of time.”
His voice rises on a challenge. “You think so?! What if I can?!”
“Mmmhmm.” Your eyes flutter shut as you curl against his lanky length. “I’ll believe it when I see my costume tomorrow.”
His cackle shakes through you like a small thunderstorm. “Baby, I’m gonna prove you so wrong tomorrow you’re gonna lose your mind.”
You yawn. “You do that, babe.”
August pats your hair as you plant a series of slightly sloppy, sleepy kisses to his neck. His skin being fairer than yours, you’re rewarded with a few red blooms spreading in the wake of your nippy teeth as he hums with pleasure beside you.
“Hmm?” You hear his smile in his voice. “You trying to get me to stay over?”
“Maybe,” you mumble, flushing. “Just until I fall asleep. Can you…?”
“Yeah,” August responds easily, and you feel a complex mix of joy, guilt, and then pleasure swoop through your stomach as he pulls the blanket back over your bare body. He surrenders his time to you so readily that you feel flustered and pleased in equal parts, but the complexity of emotion fades away as August begins humming and posturing his fingers across your shoulders. You smile sleepily as your breathing deepens, watching him bob his head to a tune only he can hear and relaxing under the touch of his fingers on your body. The exhilaration of the past hour fades into the anonymity of sleep, and the last thing you remember is August beatboxing on the syllables of your name.
As far as lullabies go, this one isn’t so bad.
.
.
.
“A housing transfer request… may I ask why, Semiu?”
“Don’t, boss. You’ll worsen my headache.”