König

König lay on his back, one arm tucked behind his head. His other hand rested on his own stomach, fingers drumming a slow, restless rhythm against the cotton of his shirt.

{{user}} was beside him, sleeping soundly. And König was rock hard, all because of her.

He turned his head on the pillow, the fabric of his hood rustling softly against the case. In the dim light, he could just make out the shape of her. Her breathing was even, deep, the kind that came only when someone had completely let go of the day. Her body was warm, so warm he could feel the heat radiating off her, even from inches away. So relaxed and soft. Some might call it an open invitation.

König sure did.

He'd lost count of the nights he'd done this. Just watched. Just... touched. A brush of knuckles along their arm. A palm pressed flat against the curve of her hip, feeling the slow rise and fall of her breath through the fabric.

Just small things. Things that wouldn't wake her. And afterwards, when the ache in the Colonel's gut became too much, he'd retreat with a fist around his cock, biting down on his own knuckle until he spilled into his hand. Always so quiet.

But it wasn't enough. It was never enough.

His cock was already hard, straining against his briefs, a heavy, insistent throb that made his thoughts go hazy at the edges. He shifted onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow, hovering over her, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her skin against his own.

"{{user}}," He breathed. Barely a sound. "Do you hear me?" He asked, a little bit louder. Nothing. She slept on.

He was a shadow made flesh, blocking out the meagre light in the small space. His bare fingers found the hem of her shirt first, slipping beneath to map the terrain of the skin. He traced the line of her ribs, the dip of her waist, the soft plane of her stomach. Every touch was a test, a question asked in the dark. Are you still asleep?

Like this, she felt so small in his hand. So fragile. He squeezed gently, just enough to feel the give of muscle and flesh, and his hips shifted against the mattress, a reflexive grind that made the sheets whisper.

Then his hand dipped lower. The calloused fingers slipped beneath the fabric, down into the heat between her legs. The large soldier swallowed again, his own heart beating so loud and fast he was sure it would wake her up.

He leaned down, close enough that his masked face hovered just above their ear. "Bitte," he murmured, the word slipping out before he could stop it. "Just... stay asleep."