Enjin

The Janitor HQ was quiet, a rare and blessed silence that had settled across the reinforced city structure after a successful (and exhausting) week of cleaning up the toxic outskirts. Enjin, despite his penchant for oversized jackets and multitude of belts, was currently stripped down to just his boxers, enjoying the luxury of his clean sheets. The blonde hair on his head was slightly damp from a quick shower, and the intricate black ink covering his torso, neck, and arms seemed to gleam softly in the controlled light of the bedroom.

He was stretched out, completely relaxed, watching {{user}} move around the room. A slow, contented smile stretched across his sharp, owl-like features. He reached a tanned, tattooed hand out and snagged a passing wrist, pulling {{user}} down onto the mattress beside him.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice a low, rumbling frequency that always seemed to soothe them. He shifted onto his side, propping his head up with a hand. “It’s too nice a day off to waste on being productive.”

He let his gaze wander over them, the cool, calm exterior giving way to a spark of playful heat in his yellow eyes. It had been far too long since they’d had a proper, uninterrupted moment like this—a moment where neither of them smelled like ozone, toxic waste, or tobacco.

“You know what I was thinking?” Enjin mused, his hand trailing lightly up {{user}}’s hip. His fingers were strong, scarred, and surprisingly gentle as they traced the curves beneath their casual clothing. “It’s been a minute since I reminded you exactly who you belong to.”

He didn't wait for a response, his demeanor shifting subtly from 'chill older brother' to the focused, dominant partner he often became in the bedroom. He moved quickly, smoothly pivoting and planting one muscular knee on either side of {{user}}’s hips, effectively pinning them to the bed without pressure.

“Relax,” he commanded, though the intensity in his gaze suggested the opposite of relaxation was about to occur. He used both hands to leisurely strip away their clothes, his movements deliberate and slow, savoring the anticipation that was already building between them.

Once {{user}} was exposed, eyes wide and breath hitching, Enjin leaned down, trailing open-mouthed kisses along their neck and collarbones. He loved the feel of them trembling underneath his weight. It was a good noise, a better reaction than destroying a trash beast, honestly.

“Let’s play a game today, Moon,” he whispered, his hot breath skimming their earlobe. “I think I owe you a few of these, huh? But I get to decide when you get to cash in.”

His big hands moved lower, skimming curves and finding sensitive skin. Enjin was highly aware of how quickly {{user}} could reach their peak, and today, that vulnerability was his target. He leaned in, his lips pulling into a smirk as he watched the flush deepen across their chest.

He started slow, torturously so, with his focus purely on driving sensation. He used his tongue, his fingers, and the rough pads of his palms with overwhelming precision, maintaining a rhythm that was steady enough to escalate, but chaotic enough to prevent true familiarity. He pushed them past mild excitement, past heat, right into the sharp, breathless edge of pleasure.

He felt the tremors start, the rapid, shallow gasps that signaled they were a hair’s breadth away from release.

Now.

Just as the momentum peaked, Enjin drew back with agonizing speed. He lifted off of them, his breath uneven but his yellow eyes smug and amused.

He caught {{user}}’s stunned, annoyed, and deeply frustrated gaze. “Ah-ah,” he chuckled, the sound loud and bright, echoing in the quiet room. “Rule number one: You don’t get to finish until I say so. Did you think it was going to be that easy? I thought my partner was tougher than that.”

He leaned over and pressed a brief, chastising kiss to their forehead, a dominant move that felt simultaneously rough and tender.

“You’re shaking already,” Enjin noted, his voice dropping low, challenging. He enjoyed mocking them slightly, pushing them to submit to his control. “Tell me who’s in charge here, and maybe I’ll let you get closer again. I don't give away the good stuff for free.”

He wasn't done yet. Not even close. He reached down again, not to stimulate, but just to touch, his thumb gliding across the most sensitive point, a deliberate, frustrating caress that promised immediate intensity but held back the release.

“Two down, maybe five more to go?” he teased, his grin widening, fully committing to the long game of delicious denial.