๋༘⋆Enjin

After a mission that was supposed to be easier than it actually turned out to be, you and Enjin were damn exhausted.

According to Enjin, the mission was supposed to end in about an hour—just a routine job dealing with a Trash Beast. And it was, except there were several of the creatures, and it didn't help that the Raiders were sticking their noses where they didn't belong again, getting in your way.

So when the two of you finally made it back to headquarters, all you wanted was to take a shower and just go to sleep, completely drained both emotionally and physically.

So what stopped you from doing that? A problem named Enjin. With his deep, slightly raspy voice, he sweetly dragged you into his room to unwind. What utterly disarmed you were his dimples.

This man clearly knows what he's doing. Or maybe he didn't even think you'd actually agree.

Enjin's room had a quiet atmosphere, filled with idle small talk while you lay half-reclined on the edge of his bed, staring at the ceiling.

Eventually, though, you both fell silent, way too tired to keep talking nonsense, each absorbed in your own thoughts.

Enjin stood quietly by the window, smoking his cigarette, visibly relaxing as he did so. You stayed lying on his bed with your eyes closed. Unnoticed by yourself, you began to drift off to sleep, but you were pulled back by Enjin's voice as he suddenly spoke up again.

"Want a smoke?" he asked, glancing at you over his shoulder, noticing your drowsy state.

"Hey, it's only five in the evening, no time to sleep. You've got the whole night ahead of you to sleep in," he laughed, walking over to his bed and flopping down beside you, ultimately holding out a cigarette to you without waiting for an answer.

"Here, relax. I don't know about you, but cigarettes help me clear my head and unwind. Just try it," he said, his voice softer now, resting his hands behind his head and looking at the ceiling while his own cigarette smoldered between his lips.

You know, if it were anyone else, you probably would have turned it down, but this was Enjin—someone you've known for a long time and trust, knowing he doesn't mean any harm. Even if he's still a total idiot.

So you took the cigarette from his hand, lit it off his, and took your first drag.

Gradually, you really felt your body truly relax, leaving nothing in your mind but emptiness and the smoke from your and Enjin's cigarettes.

Enjin's cigarettes blurred any boundaries between you, making your heads comfortably heavy along with your eyelids, which were desperate to close.

However, Enjin was a little shit who always had something brewing in his head—something that almost always made you want to smack him over the head.

And so, you didn't even notice how Enjin suddenly started talking about what you desire in bed—things you'd never say out loud, but would love to try. And his skillful mouth somehow dragged the words "overstimulation" out of you.

And Enjin? That arrogant bastard took it as a challenge.

At first, he teased you, then he got much closer, making "accidental" touches, running his hand from your thigh up to your waist, stroking you. His large palm touched your stomach, completely covering it with his hand.

You didn't even notice his hand slipping into your pants, right beneath your underwear.

Teasing touches and movements between your folds, spreading the slick moisture that had begun to pool there, felt like an electric shock. It felt good—far too good—making your thighs squeeze together as if trying to trap his hand between your legs.

Enjin acted with confidence, knowing exactly what he was doing, shifting the focus from touching to the real action: oral sex.

Now he was right between your legs, licking you as if you were a feast for him, savoring you with intense hunger. It made you overly sensitive to his mouth and touches, forcing you to writhe beneath him while the sheets underneath you became completely soaked with your arousal.

After a mission that was supposed to be easier than it actually turned out to be, you and Enjin were damn exhausted.

According to Enjin, the mission was supposed to end in about an hour—just a routine job dealing with a Trash Beast. And it was, except there were several of the creatures, and it didn't help that the Raiders were sticking their noses where they didn't belong again, getting in your way.

So when the two of you finally made it back to headquarters, all you wanted was to take a shower and just go to sleep, completely drained both emotionally and physically.

So what stopped you from doing that? A problem named Enjin. With his deep, slightly raspy voice, he sweetly dragged you into his room to unwind. What utterly disarmed you were his dimples.

This man clearly knows what he's doing. Or maybe he didn't even think you'd actually agree.

Enjin's room had a quiet atmosphere, filled with idle small talk while you lay half-reclined on the edge of his bed, staring at the ceiling.

Eventually, though, you both fell silent, way too tired to keep talking nonsense, each absorbed in your own thoughts.

Enjin stood quietly by the window, smoking his cigarette, visibly relaxing as he did so. You stayed lying on his bed with your eyes closed. Unnoticed by yourself, you began to drift off to sleep, but you were pulled back by Enjin's voice as he suddenly spoke up again.

"Want a smoke?" he asked, glancing at you over his shoulder, noticing your drowsy state.

"Hey, it's only five in the evening, no time to sleep. You've got the whole night ahead of you to sleep in," he laughed, walking over to his bed and flopping down beside you, ultimately holding out a cigarette to you without waiting for an answer.

"Here, relax. I don't know about you, but cigarettes help me clear my head and unwind. Just try it," he said, his voice softer now, resting his hands behind his head and looking at the ceiling while his own cigarette smoldered between his lips.

You know, if it were anyone else, you probably would have turned it down, but this was Enjin—someone you've known for a long time and trust, knowing he doesn't mean any harm. Even if he's still a total idiot.

So you took the cigarette from his hand, lit it off his, and took your first drag.

Gradually, you really felt your body truly relax, leaving nothing in your mind but emptiness and the smoke from your and Enjin's cigarettes.

Enjin's cigarettes blurred any boundaries between you, making your heads comfortably heavy along with your eyelids, which were desperate to close.

However, Enjin was a little shit who always had something brewing in his head—something that almost always made you want to smack him over the head.

And so, you didn't even notice how Enjin suddenly started talking about what you desire in bed—things you'd never say out loud, but would love to try. And his skillful mouth somehow dragged the words "overstimulation" out of you.

And Enjin? That arrogant bastard took it as a challenge.

At first, he teased you, then he got much closer, making "accidental" touches, running his hand from your thigh up to your waist, stroking you. His large palm touched your stomach, completely covering it with his hand.

You didn't even notice his hand slipping into your pants, right beneath your underwear.

Teasing touches and slow up-and-down strokes along your entire length, spreading your pre-cum. It felt good—far too good. Enjin acted with confidence, knowing exactly what he was doing, shifting the focus from touching to the real action: oral sex.

Now he was right between your legs, sucking you as if you were a feast for him, savoring you with intense hunger. One moment he'd take you in completely, the next he'd focus solely on your head, while his hand played with your balls. It made you overly sensitive to his mouth and touches, making you writhe beneath him, your hips involuntarily twitching against Enjin's mouth.