He came up over me slick-mouthed and breathing hard, kissed me before I could say anything else, the salt of my own skin still on his tongue mixed with the copper-warm taste of him where his mouth had been at my throat earlier.
I reached down to find him finally, hard and aching against my hip, and the small broken sound he made when I wrapped my hand around him was the first thing all night that sounded like him losing control instead of fighting it, like he’d been waiting for my touch and my touch alone.
I pushed him back, got him on his knees on the mattress, and he went without resistance, watching me with those dark eyes as I took his cock in my hand properly.
It was thick, heavier than mine, the skin hot and soft over the hard length of him, and I licked up the underside just to see his breath catch, just to watch his hands clench in the sheet the same way mine had.
I took him into my mouth slow, inch by inch, letting him feel every second of it, letting him watch the way my throat worked around him, and the sound he made was broken and guttural, his accent bleeding through the edges of it.
“Fuck, Nico,” he said, his hand finding the back of my head but not pushing, just holding like he needed something to anchor himself.
I took him deeper, let my throat relax around him, and when I looked up at him through my lashes his eyes were dark and blown wide, his lips parted, his face stripped of every wall he’d ever built.
I sucked him like I meant it, like I wanted to remember the weight of him on my tongue, the taste of him, salt and skin and the taste of his scent made solid.
I worked him until his hips started to stutter, until his grip in my hair tightened and he made a sound that was almost a warning, and then I pulled off because I wasn’t done with him yet, because I wanted him inside me when he came.
“Now,” I said, crawling up his body, my cock hard again and leaking against his stomach.
“Please.
Now.” He flipped us, faster than I expected, pinning me to the mattress, and he lined himself up slow, watching my face the entire time.
I felt the head of his cock press against my hole, still slick and open from his mouth, and when he pushed in I felt every single inch of it, the stretch sharper than I expected, a slow burn spreading up through my hips as my body opened for him properly, inch by inch, more of him than I remembered from the heat, or maybe just more of him than I’d let myself pay attention to back then.
His cock stretched me wide, filled every part of me, and the sensation of being so full made my eyes roll back even as I forced them open to watch his face.
“Wait— wait,” I said, breath caught in my throat.
He stopped instantly, fully seated, both of us breathing hard, his forehead dropping to mine.
“Okay?” “Yeah.
Just give me a second.” “Take as long as you need.” I took maybe 10 seconds, feeling his pulse inside me, feeling the way my body clenched around him and the way that made his breath hitch, and then I rocked my hips against him because the ache had already started turning into something better, and he understood without me having to say it, pulling back slow and pushing in again, the 2nd time easier than the 1st.
He started slow, deliberate, relearning my body from the inside, every drag of his cock against that one spot inside me making my back arch off the mattress, my moans turning shameless and desperate.
Then he broke loose, the slow control giving way all at once, his hips snapping forward harder, faster, the headboard catching the wall with every thrust hard enough to leave a mark there too.
The wet slap of skin filled the room, the sound of his balls slapping against my ass with every driving thrust, my own cock trapped between our stomachs and leaking slick with every push.
“Fuck, look at you,” he said, his voice rough and broken, his hand wrapping around my cock and stroking in time with his thrusts.
“Taking me so well, taking all of me, like you were fucking made for it.” “Damjan,” I gasped, and the word came out shattered.
“Say it again.” “Damjan, Damjan, fuck, right there, don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking stop—” He hit that spot again, a direct hit that sent stars across my vision, and I came untouched, thick and hot across his hand, my whole body convulsing around him, and the feeling of my hole clenching down on his cock made him groan, a sound torn from deep in his chest.
He stopped suddenly, hips stilling, both of us breathing hard in the quiet that followed.
“What,” I managed.
“Nothing.
I just— I just wanted to look at you for a second.” “That’s the worst possible time to go sentimental on me, Damjan.” “Noted.” He started moving again, harder than before, the brief stillness apparently costing him more control than he meant to spend on it, and the 2nd orgasm was already building in me, faster than it should have been, the oversensitivity making everything sharper, more intense.
“Damjan—” “I’ve— I’ve got you.
I’ve got you, Nico.” His hand wrapped around my throat, not tight, just present, and every sound I’d been holding back came out of me at once.
Through the bond, faint and strange, I felt an echo that wasn’t mine, a pulse of his own pleasure bleeding into mine until I couldn’t tell where my body ended and the sensation of his actually started, my pleasure feeding into his and his into mine until we were a closed loop of it.
“Say it,” he said, low, his mouth against my ear.
“Tell me you’re mine.” “I’m yours.
Fuck, I’m yours, I’m—” “Say my name.” “Damjan.” “Again.” “Damjan, Damjan, fuck,” my voice cracked, “right there, don’t stop, don’t you dare stop—” “I’m close,” I managed, the words barely making it out whole.
“I’m so close, don’t—” “Not yet.” His hand found my hip, holding me still against him, slowing everything down to an almost cruel pace.
“Not until I say.” “You’re a bastard.” “I am— I am told that often.” He started moving again anyway, slow and deliberate, and the deliberate drag of it undid me faster than the rough pace ever had, each inch of his cock dragging across that spot inside me with agonizing precision.
I felt it before I understood what it was, the drag of him growing thicker at the base with every thrust, stretching me wider than before, wider than I thought I could take, and Damjan’s whole body went rigid above me, a sound tearing out of his throat that wasn’t anything close to human.
“It’s—” he started, voice wrecked, hips stuttering against the effort of holding back even that long.
“I know.
I know, just do it, don’t stop now.” The catch happened on the next thrust, a click I felt more than heard, the widest part of him locking past the rim and sealing us together, and the sound I made was half pain, half the best thing I’d ever felt in my life, my body clamped around him so tight I could feel every vein, every ridge, every pulse of him.
He was locked inside me, completely, impossibly, the knot swelling against my prostate with every beat of his heart, and I could feel him everywhere, couldn’t tell where I ended and he began.
He came first, a long shuddering pulse I felt deep inside me, hot and endless, his cum flooding into me in waves, filling me so full I could feel it hot against my insides.
The 2nd wave of it pushed me over with him, untouched, just from the pressure and the fullness and him groaning my name into my neck, the only word he seemed to have left, his name breaking into something raw and desperate.
I came across both our stomachs, my cock pulsing without my permission, my whole body shaking through it while his knot pulsed inside me, each spasm drawing another wave of his cum deeper into me.
We stayed locked together after, both of us wrecked, his weight braced on his forearms so he wouldn’t crush me, and every small involuntary clench around him sent another aftershock through both of us, his cock pulsing inside me twice more, 3 times, each one drawing a fresh sound out of him that he did not bother hiding, each one making my oversensitive hole clench down and draw another broken moan from his throat.
“I have— I have wanted this,” he said, quiet, mouth against my shoulder, “longer than I have let either of us know.
Longer than the heat.
Longer than I should admit out loud.” “Why are you admitting it now, then?” “Because you cannot run from me right now, and I am taking advantage of that.” “You’re crying,” I said, because I could feel it, wet against my skin, and his thumb brushed under my eye, gentle now in a way nothing about the last 40 minutes had been, and I realized I was too, tears I hadn’t noticed sliding down my temples into my hair.
“So are you.” “I am not.” “Damjan.
You— you are.
I can feel it on my shoulder.” He did not argue further, just buried his face there instead, and we stayed there, still joined, his cum leaking around his knot in slow hot trickles, our breathing gradually evening out into the same rhythm, neither of us in any hurry to be anywhere else.
When he finally slipped free, 20 minutes or so later, the ache of it was as sharp as the stretch going in, and I made a small humiliating sound at the emptiness of it, at the sudden absence of him inside me after feeling so full.
He pulled me against his chest immediately, already reaching before the sound had even finished leaving me, his hand cradling the back of my head.
“Don’t,” I said into his collarbone.
“Don’t say anything about that sound.” “I was not going to say anything.” “You were thinking it.” “I was thinking several things.
None of them about the sound.” The sheets were ruined, slick and cum soaked into fabric that probably cost more than my rent, dark wet patches spreading where we’d been, and neither of us moved to deal with any of it, both of us too wrecked and too warm to break whatever this was by getting up.
I could feel his cum starting to trickle out of me, hot and wet against my thighs, and the sensation of it made my cock twitch even now, oversensitive and spent.
“3 days,” I said eventually, my voice still wrecked, still rough from his name and the screaming and his cock down my throat.
“Mm?” “Till Saturday.” He went quiet for a second, then his arm tightened around me, pulling me closer, his lips pressing against my hair.
“3 days,” he agreed, “and then the whole world gets to know what I already know.” “Which is?” “That I would— I would do every single part of today again.
Even the car.” I let that settle low in my chest, warm, my hand finding his where it rested on my hip, and outside, far off, the kettle was probably still cold on the stove, the only evidence anyone would ever find of how the whole night actually started.
But I could still feel him inside me, the ghost of his knot stretching me wide, and I knew with absolute certainty that I would never be the same after this, that he’d carved a space for himself deep inside me and I did not want him to leave it.