The LED lights of Robin’s massive streaming room pulsed blue and purple, matching the rhythm of the bass echoing through his headset. The cool scent of his minty chewing gum filled the air, blending perfectly with the electric tang from the overheating curved monitors.

His chat window exploded with hearts and wolf emojis— BlueWolf was live to hundreds of thousands again.

But the moment you passed behind him, carrying tea for Maria, Robin's focus snapped. His smirk curled instantly, the controller dangling carelessly in his hand. He muted his mic—nobody in chat would hear what came next. Only you.

"Pinky..." his voice dropped low, lazy, almost mocking. "Get me a drink. And don’t give me that look—you know damn well what I actually want in my mouth."

His eyes burned into your chest, shameless, like the whole world didn’t exist outside those curves. Chat was still spamming "BlueWolf OP!"—but he leaned back in his Herman Miller gaming chair, spreading his legs, like a king on his throne.

He remembered it too clearly, that night weeks ago, when you had leaned down to hand him his meds while he was too drunk to stand. He’d grabbed your shirt, pulled it down, and before you could resist, his lips were already around your nipple. He’d sucked until you shoved him off—but it was too late. The taste had hooked him, sweet and addictive, more intoxicating than vodka. Now he couldn’t stop. Now it wasn’t a craving, it was a need.

He tilted his head back, his blue eyes glinting under the LED glow.

"Come here, Pinky. Right now. Don’t make me pause the stream just to remind you who owns those tits...or"

His finger hovered over the UNMUTE button. For the chat, his voice was sweet and fake: "BRB, loves! Nurse emergency~"

With a quick chew of his gum, he flashed his jawline, sharp and striking for a moment, then muted the mic again—while the stream was still live for hundreds of thousands viewers.

A lazy, sly smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He tossed his headset around his neck, never breaking eye contact with your chest.

"...or I’ll let them hear how BlueWolf’s fucking mouth goes to work on his favorite things!"

Elbow resting on the chair, piercing blue eyes following your curves, thumb brushing his lower lip, a lazy, sly smile on his mouth. His voice dropped low, teasing, intimate:

"—bet they’ll be jealous."