The chill air isn't as refreshing as it should be as Saturn steps inside, hastily kicking off the ugly-ass heels she’d been forced to wear. They clatter gracelessly against the marble floor, tossed aside as if they didn't cost more than the most expensive unit in Bellevue.

Lofwyr glowers at her from across the open space, his jacket already discarded, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The tension in his shoulders says he’s been waiting—agitated, coiled tight. He should have transformed and went back to arcology but he came here instead, to watch over his prisoner. Not his lover, not the runner he once employed. She is now his prisoner

Saturn strolls deeper into the penthouse, ignoring him, pretending not to notice the weight of his gaze locked solely on her. The place is absurd. Too many wall to wall windows, too much polished glass, too much humming from quiet, expensive automation. He spared no expense for the prison he's placed her in. The night sky casts a cool indigo hue over her, the city lights glittering and reflecting off her skin and shimmery black dress.

Lofwyr’s gaze softens ever so slightly. She’s beautiful to look at. That’s why she’s kept here.

His eyes travel down to the sway of her hips, to her thighs, visible by that risky dress. That slinky, dangerous little dress he selected hugs her too well. The hem dances high on her thighs, and when she drops unceremoniously onto the velvet couch with a loud, graceless “oof,” her legs spread wide. Not like a refined lady, but like some cocky ork bruiser claiming territory. One arm slung across the backrest, the other hanging loose. Defiant. Aggressively casual. All Saturn.

He can see up her skirt. Black lace with a golden trim. He chose that, too. He chooses every little thing for her now.

The lipstick shade. The nail polish. The cut of her dresses. What dishes get delivered. What she’s allowed to drink. And she's perfect in his color. She fits the corporate scene so well. Throw a cape over her and you can hide over those sculpted arms — of which Lofwyr adores, always sliding his hands down to feel her strength. The same with that dangerous plunging neckline and supple breasts that press against the silk and threaten to spill out.

“…Lofwyr,” An unamused voice cuts him out of his daydream. She’s looking at him, eyes half-lidded, mascara smudged, hair a mess from yanking clips out of her updo. She wiped off her face makeup and somehow she looks more devastating. "You’re staring.” she stretches and props up her bare feet on the glass coffee table with an audible thunk.

Lofwyr crosses his arms, jaw ticking. It’s hard not to stare when you’ve trapped the most dangerous, most beautiful creature on Earth inside your home.

He gives her a slow, deliberate once-over. “You’ve lost weight. Why are you refusing to eat?”

Saturn scoffs. Kicks lazily in his direction without looking. “Cause the food here sucks.”

“I’ve had the best chefs—“

“And they suck. It smells too fancy and the texture's weird. Bring me something from the local noodle spot, you know the one I like, they’re the only ones who can do shit.” Saturn rolls on her tummy, swinging her feet back and forth. “Remember the spice.”

Lofwyr does not sigh, because sighing would admit defeat. He simply turns away, and braces against the desk with his back turned.

“You live in a palace,” he says finally, tone hard and agitated “And complain like a brat.”

She grabs a silk throw pillow and folds it under her chin, voice muffled. “If you’re gonna trap me here with your stupid ass, I’ll make it your problem.”

He turns to glare at her.

She doesn’t meet his eyes. Instead, she feigns fascination with the embroidery on the pillow.

A few minutes later, he’s setting down two bowls of ramen. Steaming hot, the scent just how she remembered it. Thick with garlic and chili oil, the kind of spice that even the smell of it can burn. She wants to cry, remembering what it's like to be outside.

“Didn’t take you for a noodle guy, thought you’d just eat the shop keeper whole.” Saturn says as picks up the bamboo chopsticks and plucks them apart with practiced ease. She digs in without ceremony, slurping loudly. Obnoxiously. It’s almost a comfort. Lofwyr sat across from her, looking disgruntled and out of place in his bespoke suit, marble countertops, gold everything but in his hands are some cheap noodles. But Saturn doesn't even hesitate to eat them, she looks joyful to do so.

Saturn notes how Lofwyr looks jealous of the bowl in her hands. Cute.

Lofwyr picks up his own chopsticks—not the disposable kind, of course, but a sleek black lacquered pair he fetched from the drawer. He peers down into his bowl like it's a biohazard, then carefully lifts a bundle of bright red noodles and slips them into his mouth. He grimaces the moment it touches his tongue but he still chews and swallows. His grimace only worsens and he sets the bowl down with a displeased grunt.

Saturn watches, waits until she finishes her bite, and then bursts into a messy, open-mouthed giggle. “You don’t like spicy?” Lofwyr scoffs, indigent. “This hardly qualifies as spicy. More like it's just chemical burns.” Lofwyr puts a handkerchief to his mouth as he coughs. It was not painful, he is a dragon. But the metahuman form has its limits and regardless, it doesn't even taste good. Metahuman food was never his taste and not especially the synthetic crap. Saturn decides to steal them instead. He lets her, he’s glad she’s eating at all.

So it's quiet. Lofwyr just watches Saturn eat the way her lips purse, the way she swallows, the way she doesn't look at him. Lofwyr can see the mild irritation on her face from his intense gaze. She should be used to it by now. He’s been looking at her like this for weeks. Like he can memorize her just by watching long her enough.

Lofwyr moves closer and oh so awkwardly puts his arm around the back of her chair, around her. He’s close enough to breathe in her scent when he turns his head, his nose brushing against her hair.

"'Too close," she says with a mouthful.

Lofwyr hums, low in his throat, as if her complaint only encourages him. His gold eyes are half-lidded now, fixed on her with that familiar, dangerous gleam. But Saturn has never even once flinched before him. Her lip twitches with annoyance.

"How am I supposed to eat," she drawls, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. "With you breathing down my neck?"

Lofwyr makes a noise somewhere between a growl and purr. He reaches his hand up and drags the back of his knuckles softly along her jaw "You'll figure it out."

She slurps the last noodle with exaggerated defiance and sets the bowl down a with an audible clink. She doesn’t even get the chance to stretch before Lofwyr raises a hand—and silently, someone out of sight comes to clear the bowls. The moment they’re gone, his presence sharpens.

Saturn tries to slide off the plush barstool but his arm easily curls around her and pulls her in. His scent is all around her but she keeps her eyes away from his face.

“I want you.”

"Cool," she says flatly, and ducks under one of his arms like she’s done this a thousand times. But he’s faster this time. His arm slams against the wall and blocks her again. She sighs, turning her head to give him an incredulous look.

"I'm not in the mood." She clarifies, as if it matters. It never matters with him.

His hand grabs ahold of her face by the jaw, index and thumb pressing into her cheeks. Her mouth parts slightly from the pressure. He tilts her head up, forcing her to meet his eyes and even then, she keeps her eyes cast to the side.

"I. Want. You." He growls, letting out a slow, irritated huff. Fire simmering just in the air between them.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" She asks, voice muffled a little by his tight grip.

"No."

Saturn exhales and closes her eyes. She knows this battle is lost. She hates the feeling of giving in.

Satisfied with her submission, Lofwyr's hand releases her jaw and he takes her by the arm and leads her to the bedroom.

The door slides open and closes. It's cute he took her to the bedroom. She knows he'd fuck her anywhere this damned penthouse. He already has. But he likes to think that he's sappy. Sentimental. Romantic. What a mockery he makes of love.

He practically throws her, his frustration palpable. She stumbles, turning to face him with an icy glare to match.

"Strip."

When Saturn doesn't move right away, Lofwyr closes the distance and pulls at her clothes with too much force. She growls and shoves him back, promptly turning away to then begins to undress herself. It's not a sensual striptease like she's done for him in the past. Her actions are precise and quick, like she's undressing for an medical exam. And still, Saturn won't look at him.

Lofwyr eats it up though. Watches every sliver of skin be exposed. His pupils dilate when she shoves her panties down, bending over and showing her the curve of the ass he loves so much. The luxurious dress pools at her feet as she stands up before before him, back turned and posture straight.

He walks up behind her, pressing his body against hers. The outline of his erection is pushed against her ass. His hands slide up her stomach and cup her breasts. Saturn doesn't look at him, doesn't sigh prettily or lean into his touch. It frustrates him, it frustrates him so much because he huffs, growls, and shoves her hard on the bed. She lands with a soft grunt, the bed bouncing slightly.

“You don’t look at me anymore,” he murmurs, with too much of a tremble in his voice for a dragon. "You never look at me."

Saturn doesn't bother rolling on her back or turning her head, she just stares at the headboard as the bed dips and Lofwyr gets on top of her. "It piss you off?" She murmurs, already knowing the answer.

"Yes." He hisses against the back of her neck, hands sliding down her body. He rolls his hips against her ass, his breath growing heavier. Every thrust gets him harder, more worked up, Saturn can feel it. "I hate when you won't look at me."

"Good." Saturn whispers.

Lofwyr grabs her by the jaw again, pulling her up until her back is arched and she's forced to look at him. He's hunched over her, rolling his hips against her, huffing like a beast against her lips. And the look in his eyes, she hates that look. He looks more pained than angry. More lovesick then demented. Wouldn't this be easier if he was just a sick, hateful man?

"You're pathetic." She hisses, neck strained with the way he's handling her. His thumb traces the bottom of her lip. He doesn't bother with a response but she sees it in his eyes. He presses his forehead against hers, eyes clenched tight. Saturn makes a grunt, he thinks it's a moan. His hand slides beneath her, thick fingers seeking out her cunt.

Only a little wet.

It's fine.

He grabs her by the thigh, spreading her and angling her hips. He pushes into her with little preamble, not softly, just desperate to feel her again. He rocks into her in slow, grinding thrusts. Lofwyr nuzzles his face against the side of her head, dragging his hot tongue along her cheek, nipping at her jaw, licking the salt of her skin, breathes her in like he needs it.

It doesn't feel good for Saturn. Not yet. She just stares at the headboard, eyes unfocused, mouth set. Her fingers clutch at the sheets beneath her, not in pleasure but in response to the burn where he stretches her open.

"Saturn," Lofwyr groans again. His pace quickens, hips slapping against her ass, the sound sharp and wet in the air between them. His chest presses flush to her back now, crushing her between his weight and the mattress. "Saturn, Saturn," He's panting, growling. Maybe it starts to feel good, Saturn bites her lip. She won’t give him that sound.

“You’re sick,” she hisses instead, voice catching on the syllables despite herself.

And he hears it. Of course he hears it. That hitch, that falter, the small bit of pleasure he's forced out of her.

His breath is scorching against her neck, far too hot. “Look at me,” he breathes, desperate now. “Saturn. Look at me.”

She turns her face deeper into the pillow, hiding. Refusing. Her shoulders tense when she feels his body stutter, his breath catch again. He makes a noise, a growl caught in his throat. "Saturn..." It sounds like a sob. His hand snakes around hers, lacing their fingers together. His grip is tight. She doesn't squeeze back. Don't give him this. Her teeth dig into her lip, and her hips twitch without permission. Her body’s betraying her, traitorous and greedy. It’s just nerves. Just friction. Not him.

The pressure builds between them. His thrusts grow erratic, urgent. His body trembles, shuddering against her as he pushes himself to the edge. Then, with a low groan, he comes with his hips pressed hard against her ass, grinding into her like he could melt into her skin. Saturn inhales sharply as the sensation burns its way through her.

If it was back then, before all this damn mess, he would have gotten dressed quickly, tossed her some careless compliment, and left without a second thought. And she would have liked it that way. It was simple. Clean. She could keep her walls intact that way. But now, it's different. He knows she didn't come, knows she's not happy. But he doesn't let go. Instead, he rolls to his side with her still in his arms. Clutching her tightly, rocking his hips inside her slowly.

“I love you,” he groans — and the words make Saturn feel sick. Saturn closes her eyes tightly, willing herself not to respond. She doesn’t want to give him this. Doesn’t want to give him anything. But then, like always, Lofwyr gets what he wants. Slowly, almost tenderly, he presses a kiss to the side of her face, trailing down her jaw to her neck. His hands are between her legs, fingers adeptly finding every little spot to make her sing. He's got them memorized.

A knot in her stomach twists, and before she can stop it, she comes. Reluctantly. She fights it, trying to hold herself back, but Lofwyr’s touch is relentless. His kisses, his fingers, the slow roll of his hips against her. It takes something out of her that she doesn't want to give. He's always taking it.

When he finally pulls away, Saturn lays there in the bed. Her eyes far away, still refusing to look at him. He tenderly, carefully, cleans her up. Cards his fingers through her long hair. Looks like he wants to say sorry but even though he never could.

And just for a moment, Saturn turns her head into the palm of his hand. Her eyes flutter closed. She leans into the warmth of his touch.

It burns. She hates that it feels good. Hates that he's making her to want to be held.

Her eyes open slowly, half-lidded. One of them glows gold, bright and unnatural in the dim room. A reminder of what he’s done to her.

"You're so beautiful." Lofwyr whispers with awe, his thumb brushing her cheek. Then he leans down and kisses her. Slow, reverent. And she kisses him back, a soft whimper in her throat and her brows knit together like it hurt. He rises from the bed, unhurried, and adjusts his clothes in that precise, practiced way she’s seen a hundred times— smoothing fabric, fastening buttons, fixing his cuffs, as if nothing has changed.

It's performative now. Hollow. A mimicry of what it used to be.

“I’ll be back later,” he says, straightening his collar.

"I know," Saturn says as she pulls the covers over herself.