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We are taught to want what is obvious: the towering, the unmissable, the things that announce themselves before they even arrive. But desire has a quieter language. It lives in the spaces between what we’re told to crave and what actually makes our pulses race. In the blush of someone who knows they’re being looked at. In the tremor of a hand that offers itself anyway, despite the risk of laughter or rejection. In the understanding that power isn’t always a matter of size—sometimes, it’s the audacity to stand there, small and unapologetic, and demand to be wanted.

The forest had always been Teemo’s domain—his playground, his hiding place, the one spot where no one could catch him unless he wanted to be caught. Tonight, though, the usual mischief in his eyes was replaced by something else. Something quieter. Something hungrier. You should’ve known something was different the moment he appeared at your campsite, his goggles already pushed up onto his forehead, his cheeks flushed from more than just the evening run. He didn’t speak at first. He just stood there, twisting his fingers together, his ears flicking nervously.

[i]"Come with me,"[/i] he finally said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. Not a demand. Not quite. But you followed anyway, because you always did. The path was familiar—the way the trees arched overhead, the scent of damp earth and wild cogumelos, and the distant chirp of night insects. But Teemo wasn’t his usual chatty self. He was quiet. Too quiet. The only sound was the rustle of leaves under his boots and the occasional hitch in his breath when he glanced back at you.

The clearing was bathed in moonlight, the grass silver, and the air thick with the scent of pine and something sweeter—something that made your pulse kick up. Teemo stopped at the edge, his back to you, his shoulders tense.

[i]"Close your eyes,"[/i] he said.

You hesitated. [i]"Teemo—"[/i]

[i]"Please."[/i]

So you did as you heard the rustle of his belt and the soft thud of his boots hitting the ground. The silence that followed was heavy, charged. Then, his fingers brushed your wrist, light as a breeze.

[i]"Okay,"[/i] he whispered. [i]"Look."[/i]

And there he was. His trousers were pooled at his ankles, his small body illuminated by the pale glow of the moon. His cock was erect and flushed, the foreskin still mostly covering it. His belly was soft, his thighs trembling just slightly, and his face—god, his face—was a mess of pink blush and determination. He wasn’t smiling. Not his usual grin, at least. It was something else. Something raw.

[i]"Well?"[/i] he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t trust your voice, so you didn’t speak. Instead, you took a step closer, close enough to see the way his chest rose and fell and the way his fingers twitched at his sides like he was fighting the urge to cover himself.

[i]"I—I wanted you to see,"[/i] he stammered. [i]"Not just as my friend. But like this."[/i]

Your hand lifted before you could stop it, brushing against his hip. Teemo shuddered, his breath hitching. [i]"You’re beautiful,"[/i] you murmured.

His ears flattened against his head. [i]"Don’t lie,"[/i] he muttered, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he reached down, wrapping his small hand around his cock, giving it a slow stroke. His eyes never left yours. "I’ve thought about this," he admitted, "about you. About what you’d do if you saw me like this."

His free hand found your wrist, guiding your fingers to replace his. His skin was hot, his cock twitching under your touch. [i]"Like that,"[/i] he breathed. [i]"Just—just like that."[/i]

You obeyed, stroking him slowly, watching the way his lips parted and the way his body arched into your touch. His other hand fisted in your shirt, pulling you closer until you could feel his breath against your neck. [i]"I’ve imagined it,"[/i] he confessed, his voice a growl. [i]"Imagined you."[/i]

His mouth crashed against yours, hungry and demanding. His tongue was hot, his teeth nipping at your lower lip as his hips rocked forward, chasing the friction of your hand. [i]"More,"[/i] he gasped against your lips. [i]"I want more."[/i]

He didn’t wait for an answer. With a sudden push, he had you on your back in the soft grass, his small body straddling your hips. His hands were everywhere—tugging at your shirt, scraping down your chest, his claws pricking just enough to make you gasp. [i]"You’re mine,"[/i] he growled, his voice thick with a confidence you’d never heard from him before. [i]"Tonight, you’re mine."[/i]

His mouth trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your collarbone, his tongue swirling over your nipple through the fabric of your shirt. You groaned, your hands finding his hips, gripping tight as he ground down against you. His cock was throbbing against your stomach, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

[i]"Teemo—"[/i] you started, but he cut you off with another kiss, deeper this time, his tongue tangling with yours.

[i]"Shh,"[/i] he murmured, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of your pants. [i]"Let me show you."[/i]

His hands were small but sure, stroking you with the same slow, deliberate rhythm you’d used on him. His mouth followed, hot and wet, his tongue swirling over the tip of your cock before taking you in fully. The sight of him—kneeling between your legs, his cheeks hollowed, his eyes dark with desire—was almost enough to make you come undone right then.

[i]"Fuck, Teemo—"[/i] you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair.

He pulled off with a wet pop, grinning up at you. [i]"Not yet,"[/i] he said, his voice a teasing purr. [i]"I’m not done with you."[/i]

And then he was climbing back into your lap, his cock sliding against yours as he kissed you again, his hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles. [i]"I want to feel you,"[/i] he whispered. [i]"All of you."[/i]

You flipped him onto his back with a growl, pinning his wrists above his head. His eyes widened, his breath coming faster as you kissed your way down his body, nipping at his soft belly and his thighs before taking his cock into your mouth. Teemo cried out, his back arching off the ground, his fingers tangling in your hair.

[i]"Yes—just like that—"[/i] he gasped, his hips bucking up into your mouth.

You took your time, savoring the way he trembled, the way his breath hitched, and the way his cock twitched against your tongue. When you finally pulled off, he was a mess—his cheeks flushed, his eyes glazed, his body trembling with need.

[i]"Inside me,"[/i] he begged, his voice desperate. [i]"Please, I want to feel you inside me."[/i]

His body is small beneath yours, but his voice is anything but shy. [i]"Now,"[/i] he demands, his nails digging into your skin. The moonlight paints his blush silver, his cock hard and demanding, and his eyes dark with a hunger you’ve never seen before. You could take him slow. You could make him beg. Or you could give him exactly what he’s asking for—hard, fast, right here in the grass where anyone could hear. So what’s it going to be? Tease him… or take him?