He was waiting outside the equipment shed when I came out, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a muscle ticking in his cheek, holding something in since before I’d even got there, something that had been building in him through the whole conversation with Henrik and probably longer than that, knowing him.
“You scared the hell out of me with that text,” I said, because “‘We need to talk’ is what people say right before they break up with you, you know, that’s like the universal signal for impending disaster.” “I am not breaking up with you,” he said, and the way he said it, flat and certain like the idea genuinely hadn’t occurred to him, made my chest do a stupid flip I wasn’t about to acknowledge out loud.
“We are bonded.
That’s not how this works.” “I know that, but my brain doesn’t apparently, so you’ll have to forgive me for jumping to the worst possible conclusion when you send me ominous messages with no context whatsoever.” “Pack— pack law says any human brought onto sanctioned ground for a ceremony has to be vouched for, personally, by a pack member willing to take responsibility for them, for everything that happens to them or because of them, for the rest of their life if it comes to that.” “That’s a lot to put on someone for one afternoon of flowers and vows, don’t you think?” “It is,” he said, and then he just looked at me for a second, those dark eyes holding mine, and I couldn’t read his expression, but I felt it—a weight behind them that made my stomach tighten.
“I— I wanted to tell you in person that I am doing it anyway, vouching for her, and I already told Henrik this morning.” I didn’t say anything for a second because I hadn’t expected that, hadn’t expected him to just decide it without making me ask twice or 3 times or however many times it usually took to get him to commit to something that big, something that permanent.
“You didn’t have to do that, you know, I wasn’t asking you to.” “I wanted to,” he said, and his voice went lower, rougher, raw feeling bleeding through the edges of it.
“She is going to be family, and I would like to start proving it counts for something.” My chest went warm and stupid, a reaction that had no business showing up in a car park of all places, and I didn’t trust myself to say anything normal in response to that so I just grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the car, already feeling the heat crawling up the back of my neck.
“Take me home,” I said, and then I corrected myself because we both knew what I meant.
“Your home, now, I mean it.” He didn’t ask twice either, already pulling the door shut behind us before I’d even finished the sentence, and the drive was a blur of streetlights and his hand on my thigh and both of us pretending we weren’t counting the seconds until we got through that front door.
We didn’t make it past the front door this time either, not even close, because he had me pinned against it before it had even clicked shut, mouth on mine and one hand already working my belt open with the kind of efficiency that came from doing it badly the 1st time and refusing to repeat the mistake, his fingers finding the buckle like he’d been practicing the motion in his head the whole way home.
“You’re keen,” I said against his mouth, breath already going ragged, and I could feel him hard against my hip through his trousers, thick and heavy and pressing into me like he couldn’t help himself.
“You have no idea,” he said, and his accent was already thicker than it had been in the car park, that slight roughness bleeding through that told me he was losing the grip on whatever control he’d been holding onto all day, and the sound of it went straight to my cock like a shot.
He got my jeans down to my knees and dropped, no hesitation, no preamble, just dropped straight to the floor like his knees had given out from under him and there was nothing slow about it this time, no question of permission or careful pacing or any of the restraint he’d shown the 1st time, just his mouth wrapping around my cock and taking me down in one go until I hit the back of his throat and swore loud enough the neighbours probably heard it through the wall, a long drawn out “fuck” that turned into something closer to a groan when he swallowed around me.
“Fuck, Damjan, fuck—” He pulled off just enough to drag his tongue along the underside, slow and deliberate, watching me the whole time like he wanted to see exactly what it did to my face, wanted to catalog every twitch and gasp and involuntary buck of my hips.
And then he took me deeper again, his throat working around the head before he pulled back and did it again, building a rhythm that had my hands fisting in his hair and my head thunking back against the door.
“You’ve been thinking about this all day, haven’t you?” I managed, voice already wrecked, and he hummed around me in response, the vibration of it going straight through my cock and up my spine until my vision blurred at the edges.
“Fuck, of course you have, you fucking—” He pulled off again, lips wet and slick with spit, eyes dark and fixed on mine from where he was kneeling, and he looked up at me like he was waiting for something, like he needed permission for the next thing even though we both knew he didn’t actually need it anymore, not after everything we’d already done.
“Tell me— tell me what you want,” he said, voice already wrecked, rough and broken like he’d been the one getting his throat fucked instead of the other way around, and the sight of him down there, on his knees for me, undone and waiting, made heat curl in my gut, possessive and sharp.
“I want you to stop teasing and actually fuck my mouth—” I started, and then I realized how that came out and tried to correct myself.
“Wait no, the other way round, I want—” But I lost the thread of the sentence entirely when his mouth closed over me again, sucking hard enough that my hips snapped forward on instinct, fucking up into his throat before I could stop myself.
And he took it, took all of it, his hand braced against my hip and the other working between my own legs, and I felt his fingers pressing against my hole through the slick that was already there, the heat and the wetness and the way my body opened for him like it had been waiting for this exact touch all day.
He pushed in without warning, 2 fingers at once, no easing into it, just the stretch and the burn and the filthy sound of it, the wet slide of his fingers sinking into me while his mouth worked my cock, and the sensation of being filled from both directions at once hit me so hard my knees buckled, would have dropped me if I hadn’t had the door at my back and his hand gripping my hip to keep me upright.
“Fuck,” I gasped, and he did it again, pushed deeper, crooked his fingers deliberately against that spot inside me that made stars burst behind my eyelids, and I heard myself make a sound that wasn’t quite human, wasn’t quite anything I’d ever heard myself make before, a high broken whine that would have been embarrassing if I’d had any brain function left to process embarrassment with.
He worked me open slow and thorough even while his mouth kept up that brutal rhythm on my cock, his fingers sliding in and out of me with a wet sound that filled the hallway, 3 fingers now, scissoring and stretching, and I could feel the slick running down my thighs, could smell myself on the air, sharp and musky and desperate, could taste him on my tongue from where he’d kissed me earlier, copper and salt and just…
him.
“Please,” I heard myself say, and I didn’t even know what I was asking for anymore, just needed more, needed him, needed something I couldn’t put into words.
“Please, Damjan, please, I need—” He pulled off my cock just long enough to look up at me, his mouth slick and his eyes dark and his fingers still buried in my hole.
And he said “I— I know what you need” in a voice that was barely a whisper, and then his mouth moved lower, lower still, and I felt his tongue against my hole, hot and broad and wet, pressing into me around his own fingers.
And I swear I saw God for a second, or something close to it, because the sensation of his tongue fucking into me while his fingers stretched me wide was so overwhelming that my whole body locked up, every muscle going taut at once.
He ate me out like he was starving for it, like he’d been thinking about this specific thing all day and couldn’t hold back anymore, his tongue pushing deep into me while his fingers worked in and out in counterpoint, and the sounds he was making, low and hungry and obscene against my hole, were the dirtiest thing I’d ever heard in my life, wet and messy and utterly shameless.
His nose pressed against my balls and his tongue fucked into me and I could feel his stubble scraping against my inner thighs and I was so gone, so wrecked, that I heard myself begging in actual words again, please, please, his name cracked in the middle like a bone.
And I came like that, with his tongue inside me and his fingers still working, my come spattering against the door and my own stomach, my whole body shaking through it while he worked me through every pulse, kept licking and sucking at my hole until I was oversensitive and twitching and begging him to stop and begging him not to all at the same time.
He pulled back just enough to breathe, his chin slick, his mouth wet with me, and he looked up at me from between my thighs, wrecked and worshipful, both at once, and I had never felt more seen in my entire life, never felt more devoured by someone’s attention.
“Good,” he said against my thigh, his voice completely destroyed, his mouth slick with my own release.
“You’re— you’re so good for me, you know that?” My chest cracked wide open at the word, the same word, the same one he’d used the 1st time, and my whole body clenched around nothing, a full-body shiver I hadn’t asked for and couldn’t have stopped if I’d tried.
Because he was looking at me like I was precious and I didn’t know what to do with that, didn’t know where to put it, didn’t know how to carry the weight of being seen like that by someone like him.
“Say that again,” I managed, my voice coming out raw and wrecked, “and I’m gonna come a 2nd time before you’ve even touched me, I swear to fuck I will.” “Good,” he said again, deliberate, watching my face for exactly the reaction he got, and I hated him for it and loved him for it and couldn’t breathe through either one, couldn’t do anything but stand there with my jeans around my knees and his come still on his chin and my heart beating so hard I could feel it in my throat.