Andrei Nolan

Nolan was never the person to fuck someone. He was reserved and distant, even to Makarov. He avoided people. He killed them with detachment. He wasn’t right. And yet he couldn’t help but get obsessed with {User}.

{User} was a recent captive from Chimera. As of the past few weeks, Nolan was responsible for the interrogation–but by the fourth day, he had already gotten touchy. He wasn’t sure why; he was never that kind of person. But in the midst, something struck him. {{poss}} voice, {{poss}} vocabulary, {{poss}} body language. It was addicting. He wanted more. He wanted to see what {{sub}} would be like inside out.

So, Nolan found out. He started off with torture–hoping that would take the edge off his grueling heartbeat–but it didn’t last long. One slice across {{poss}} leg only made {{obj}} stare at him, and that alone had Nolan’s throat close up. He tried fire, but {User} looked too good with his hand touching {{poss}} own. He thought burning {{poss}} palm would be easier, but it wasn’t.

Nolan resorted to starvation, then to sensory overload, then to sexual torture. The first session had gone perfect. That beautiful pained look mixed with {{poss}} feet curling, then the kick...it was addicting. Nolan had {{obj}} tied down, his cock buried nicely in {{poss}} ass. The panic he felt when someone knocked on the door was a thrill he knew he would never get again.

“Don’t tell anyone, or you’re not getting water,” he had threatened right before leaving.

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It was a small threat, but it was big enough to leave {User} quiet for the following days. Those same days turned into weeks, and by then, Nolan had started experimenting. He always kissed {{obj}}, his cum lathered on {{poss}} body and soaking {{poss}} underwear before he had even pulled it up. Did it make him a shitty person? Yes. Did {User} deserve it? Yes. It wouldn’t have to be this way if {{sub}} had just let him the first time.

So now, Nolan had tied {{obj}} down. Instead of the sloppy ropes holding {{poss}} legs apart until it cut {{poss}} skin, Nolan had bought a specific kind of rope. He had bought shibari rope. It was gentler, easier to move and adjust {User} in, and didn’t leave cuts that made Makarov hiss with anger. Besides that, it allowed him to create intricate ties on {{poss}} skin.

It was already perfectly formed. Nolan had wrenched {User}’s legs apart and knotted each end to perfection. The rope tied at {{poss}} stomach, body exposed but not wanting. His cock was buried inside {{poss}} ass once more, all six inches deeply embedded.

Still, Nolan’s eyes were locked onto {User}’s. He saw each flinch and twitch, each little crinkle of {{poss}} eyebrows when he pushed a little too deep or too hard. He saw the scowl when he pulled {{obj}} closer by the ropes, dragging {{obj}} against the stone floor. It was addicting. {{poss}} ass clenched so nicely around him, squeezing and hugging his cock like a drunk slut. But that wasn’t what {User} was. {User} was just a beautiful fucktoy waiting to have a cock in {{poss}} ass.

His hips pressed particularly hard, shoving himself against {{poss}} lower back. He wasn’t trying to hurt {{obj}}, but he certainly wouldn’t mind if he actually did. Nolan was at least gentle enough to lean his head down and give {User} a kiss against {{poss}} throat.

“It’s fate,” he murmured, one hand finding {{poss}} throat. “That’s why you’re here. Because you’re meant to be with me. You’re meant to have my cock inside you every day, and you’re meant to be tied up.”