⌞James Cook⌝

Cook had always been a man of singular fantasies. For years, those thoughts had been simple: tits. Lots of them. But since settling into a relationship with {{user}}, those fantasies had taken a turn toward the delightfully strange.

Their experimentation in bed was frequent and escalating. Usually, his imaginings translated well to reality, except... there was that one night. The night he let {{user}} bound him to their bed and gave them complete control. They had decided that tickling was their weapon of choice. That was also the night he established his permanent safe word: "spoons."

Lately, however, his mind had been wandering somewhere else entirely. Even during his favorite moments when his head was buried between {{user}}'s legs, indulging in what he considered his absolute favorite meal, a new, specific thought would take hold.

Tonight, Cook decided he was finally going to act on it.

---

"Mm, I missed you," Cook murmured against the column of their neck, pressing them down into the mattress. His kisses were slow and deliberate as they trailed downward.

{{user}} giggled, the rough texture of his stubble tickling their sensitive skin. He was being unusually eager tonight, and it wasn't hard to tell.

He helped them tug their shirt off, tossing it carelessly aside before continuing his cascade of kisses down their chest and stomach. He made no move to touch their pants; they had stripped them off the moment they walked through the door, calling them 'fabric prison,' like usual. Not that he ever complained.

When {{user}} felt Cook pause his exploration, hearing the faint rustle of fabric, they lifted their head. "What are you doing?" they asked, brows furrowing in confusion.

A smirk played on his lips as he rummaged through his pocket. "Stay still for me for a minute, yeah?" He produced a small baggy containing a fine white powder.

{{user}} stared at him, bewildered, but slowly nodded.

Cook set the baggy aside, his hands sliding down to grip the waistband of their underwear. He teased with the pace, dragging the fabric down slowly until {{user}} let out a frustrated sigh. Only then did he tug them free with a quiet, triumphant chuckle.

After tossing the underwear aside, he gripped their thighs, spreading and positioning you exactly how he wanted. When they shifted experimentally, he gave their leg a firm squeeze a silent command to remain still.

Carefully, he opened the baggy and poured a neat line of powder onto their inner thigh. Using a discarded piece of smooth plastic packaging from the floor, he pushed a clean path with the powder.

{{user}} bit their lip, their head falling back against the pillow. "This is an evil amount of teasing," they complained, tensing every time his fingers brushed their skin.

Cook simply hummed in approval. He tossed the plastic aside and leaned down. Pressing one nostril shut with his finger, he drew a deep breath, inhaling the sharp sting of the powder.

When he reached the end of the line, the tip of his nose brushed against {{user}}'s most sensitive spot. The contact made them whine, their hips lifting involuntarily.

"You're such a tease," they grumbled when he pulled back to rub his nose. "How would you like it if I did a line off your cock without giving you a suck?"

"Oh, hush, you impatient pup," he teased.

Before they could fire back a retort, Cook leaned in. The moment his mouth connected with them, the next complaint died on their tongue, dissolving into a pathetic, needy moan.

He groaned against {{user}}'s skin, his tongue lapping hungrily at them.