Lovers || Long Furby x Reader

Part Two: More

     His body continues to tighten around you, your mind racing and your heart pounding, feeling heavier and heavier with every beat. You like your dried lips with thirst.

But not for water.

     You want more of him—no you crave more. Your livelihood seemingly hanging in the balance at the chance that he would pull back or continue to tempt fate in this uncertain place with, you, an uncertain individual. He is a furby of high social status, you assume, what would become of him if he were to be discovered with you: a simple and dull being with little to no experience in diplomacy. You do not dwell on these thoughts for long as his body twists around every curve in yours.

     More. Give me more. Your mind screams again and again.

     As if out of spite, he stops. His grip still firm but no longer climbing the lengths of your body. Seemingly against your will, your head turns to see him, his eyes deep and terrifying. He leans to your ear and you hear him licking his lips. Your fingernails dig into the hard wood of your chair, sweat dripping down your brow.

A sharp pain shoots from just below your neck. You open your mouth to shout out but no sound is heard.

"Shhhhh," he hushes you, "This will only take a moment."

Ecstasy pulsates throughout you, filling you with new, exciting, frightening sensations. You're not sure what's happening, all you know is that you want more. More of this feeling of intimacy, tension, and ignorant bliss. You don't want to know any more and you don't need to, either. You feel at peace but simultaneously overwhelmed. You feel—

You wake in the same bed as you had earlier that day, filled with more confusion than ever. You tear the sheets from your legs and try to stand but fall to the floor. You reach for your nightstand to hoist yourself back to your feet but fail to do so. You lean against your nightstand and hold your arms to your chest. Seemingly out of sheer instinct, your hands trace their way to your collar. You feel bandages at your fingers, neat and clean. You feel no pain there but a strange numbness you can't quite explain.

     You hear the quiet ticking of shoes against the marble floor hallways. You frantically pull the blankets from your bed and cover yourself with them and close your eyes, slowing your breath.

     You wait for a few minutes, although it could have been hours. You hear nothing. Not a sound. Just your forcibly quiet breathing and your own thoughts.

You open your eyes.