He came up off his knees slow, using my hips to pull himself upright, and the drag of his body against mine, chest to chest, slick and hot and both of us breathing like we’d run a race, made my spent cock twitch even through the aftershock of the orgasm he’d just wrung out of me, the oversensitivity flaring sharp and good as his stomach dragged across the head.
He kissed me before I could say anything about it, deep and filthy with his tongue.
I tasted myself on his lips, salt and musk and the unmistakable sharpness of my own release mixed with the copper-warm taste of him underneath, like he’d swallowed me down and I was still on his breath, still coating his throat.
When he pulled back his eyes were dark and fixed on mine, his mouth slick and swollen, and I reached down between us to find him finally, hard and aching and straining against his trousers where they were still buttoned, the thick weight of him hot through the fabric.
And the sound he made when I wrapped my hand around him, a broken hitch of breath that was almost a sob, was the first thing all night that sounded like him losing control completely instead of just dancing around the edges of it.
“Now,” I said, my voice wrecked, still catching up with the rest of me, still trying to remember how words worked when all I could think about was the feel of him under my palm.
“Please, now, I need you inside me, I need to feel you, need to be full of you, I can’t— I need—” But he didn’t line up face to face like I expected, didn’t lift me or pin me front-on.
He turned me instead, one hand firm on my hip guiding me around until my palms hit the door with a flat smack and my chest was pressed against the wood, my back to him, my ass pressed against his cock where it strained through his trousers.
And the new angle of it, the vulnerability of having my spine to him, my face hidden, nothing to hold onto but the door and his hands, sent a flash of heat through me so sharp I actually moaned, a sound that got swallowed by the wood as I pressed my forehead against it.
“This okay?” he asked, his mouth against my ear, his accent bleeding through so thick the words barely held their shape, and the question itself, the fact that he was asking even now, even after everything, made my chest crack open another inch.
“Fuck, yes, do it, just fucking do it, I’ve been ready since you opened your mouth in the car park—” His hands found my hips, thumbs pressing into the divots above my ass, and I felt his belt come open one-handed behind me, the click of the buckle and the rasp of his zip and then the heat of him against my bare skin, the head of his cock sliding through the slick that was still running down my thighs from his tongue and his fingers and my own release, the wetness of it making everything slide easier, making the anticipation of him pushing in feel like a physical ache I couldn’t breathe through.
He lined himself up slow, the head pressing against my hole, not pushing yet, just resting there, and I felt every pulse of him against that tight ring of muscle, felt my body clench around nothing in response, felt the slick bead at my rim and start to slide down my thigh in a hot slow trail.
“Tell me,” he said, and his voice was rough, breaking at the edges, his grip on my hips tight enough to bruise.
“Tell me— tell me you want this.” “I want it, I want you, I want your cock inside me so bad I can’t think straight, I want you to fuck me until I forget my own name, I want—” He pushed in before I finished the sentence, and the stretch of it from this angle was different, deeper somehow, the head pressing past my rim and sliding into me in one long slow motion that had me gripping the door so hard I felt the wood grain pressing into my palms, my whole body going rigid as he filled me inch by inch until I was full of him.
Fuller than I’d ever been, the angle hitting something deeper than before, pressing against places that made my vision blur and my knees threaten to buckle under the sheer overwhelming sensation of being so taken.
I heard myself make a sound that wasn’t close to a word, just noise, just him driving the air out of my lungs with the sheer size of him, and he waited there, fully seated, his chest pressed against my back and his breath hot against my neck, letting me feel every inch of him inside me, letting my body adjust to the new angle.
“Fuck,” I managed, the word punched out of me.
“Fuck, Damjan, you’re so— I can feel you in my throat, I swear I can—” “Good,” he said, and he started moving, slow at first, pulling back until only the head remained before pushing in again, each thrust hitting that deeper spot and making my hands slide against the door, my palms leaving sweat marks on the wood.
“You— you feel that?
That’s how far I can reach from here.
That’s how deep you take me.” “More,” I said, pushing back against him, trying to take him deeper, trying to get more of him inside me even though he was already bottomed out.
“Harder, please, I need—” He gave me what I asked for, his hips snapping forward harder, the slap of skin against skin filling the hallway along with my broken moans and the wet sound of his cock sliding into me over and over, the slick making everything obscenely loud, every thrust announcing itself with a sound that should have been embarrassing but just made me hotter, made me push back harder to meet him.
One of his hands left my hip and found my cock, still oversensitive from the 1st orgasm, and the touch of his palm against the head made me jolt so hard I nearly came right there.
“Not yet,” he said, his grip tightening at the base, a pressure that was equal parts denial and promise.
“Not until I’m done with you.” “You’re going to kill me,” I said, my voice coming out somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
“Literally, I’m going to die on your hallway floor with your cock in my ass and your hand on my dick, and the neighbours are going to find my body and you’ll have to explain it to the police.” “Worth it,” he said, and he drove into me harder to prove he meant it, each thrust bottoming out inside me until I felt him everywhere, in my teeth, behind my eyes, in the soles of my feet that were barely touching the floor anymore, my whole body nothing but a vessel for the sensation of him fucking into me over and over.
His free hand grabbed my hip like a handlebar, pulling me back onto his cock with every thrust, setting a rhythm that had me babbling against the door, his name and please and fuck and more, more, more, until the words stopped meaning anything except the shape of them in my throat.
“Look at you,” he said, his voice rough, his chest heaving against my back, sweat slick between us where our skin met.
“Taking me like this, like you were made for it, like your body was built around the shape of me.” “Fuck, don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking stop, right there, please, please—” “Say my name.” “Damjan.” “Again.” “Damjan— fuck— Damjan, right there, don’t stop—” He changed the angle slightly, one hand pressing between my shoulder blades, arching my back deeper, and suddenly he was hitting that spot on every single thrust, no escaping it, no relief from it, just relentless pressure building on top of pressure until I couldn’t tell anymore where one wave ended and the next one started, just a continuous wall of sensation that had me coming apart completely, my whole body trembling against the door, my hands sliding down the wood until I was barely holding myself up.
“I’ve— I’ve got you,” he said, and he wrapped an arm around my waist, pulled me upright against him, my back to his chest, and the new angle drove him even deeper, made me feel every inch of him from a different direction entirely.
“I’ve got you, Nico.
Let go.” “I can’t— I’m so close, I’m—” “Then come,” he said, his mouth against my ear, his voice wrecked and broken and so full of want that I felt it through the bond before I understood it, a pulse of heat and need and worship, actual worship.
“Come for me, let me feel you, I want to feel you fall apart around me—” I came with his name torn out of me, a sound that started as a scream and ended as something closer to a sob, my whole body convulsing around him, clenching down so tight that he cursed in actual Croatian, a string of words I didn’t understand but felt anyway, the shape of them rough and desperate against my throat as his hips stuttered and he fought for control he was clearly losing.
My cum hit the door in thick hot stripes, splattering against the wood and sliding down in slow trails, and through the aftershocks I could feel him still driving into me, chasing his own release, each thrust sending another wave of oversensitive sparks through my nerves until I was twitching and shaking and still begging for more.
He pulled out before I expected him to, the sudden emptiness making me gasp, and before I could protest he had me turned around, my back hitting the door, one of my legs hooked over his arm as he lined himself up again and pushed back into me in one motion, the new angle face to face letting me see his face, the way his eyes were dark and blown wide, his lips parted, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he fought to hold on.
“Want to— want to see you,” he said, and his voice was barely there, rough and broken and honest in a way he never was outside of this.
“Want to see your face when I—” He didn’t finish the sentence, just drove into me harder, his forehead dropping to mine, both of us breathing the same air, and I could feel the drag of his knot starting, the stretch building with every thrust, thicker each time he pulled almost all the way out and drove back in, and this time neither of us paused for it, both too far gone to do anything but chase it, every nerve in my body narrowing down to that one point of contact, that one place where we were joined.
“Moj,” he said, and I didn’t know what it meant but I felt it, felt the weight of it settle into my bones like it had been waiting for me there all along.
“Moj, moj, moj—” “What does that mean?” I managed, voice wrecked, still clenching around him, still shaking through the aftershocks of the 2nd orgasm.
“Mine,” he said, and the word was thick with his accent, heavy with everything he couldn’t say in English.
“It means mine.” The catch happened on the next thrust, the widest part of him locking past my rim and sealing us together, and I felt it everywhere, the stretch and the fullness and the way my body clamped around him so tight I could feel every vein, every ridge, every pulse of him inside me, and the sound I made was half pain, half the best thing I’d ever felt in my life, my hands finding his shoulders, nails digging in hard enough to leave crescents.
His hips kept working in short, deep snaps, grinding his knot against my prostate with every movement, and I came a 3rd time with nothing but the pressure of him inside me, my cock pulsing between our stomachs, my cum wet and hot against his skin, the orgasm ripping through me without any stimulation at all, just the feel of his knot locked inside me and his groans in my ear.
He came right after, forehead dropping to my shoulder, a long broken sound against my skin that wasn’t close to actual words, just sound, just him coming apart in my arms, and I felt it through the bond before I felt it physically.
A pulse of heat and release that crashed through me like a wave, and then his cum flooded into me, hot and endless, filling me so full I could feel it pooling deep inside, could feel the warmth of it spreading through my hips, could feel my own body clenching around him and drawing more of it out of him in pulses that seemed to go on forever.
His whole weight sagged into me for a second before he caught himself, both of us breathing hard enough to embarrass a full 90 minutes of training, and his knot kept us locked together exactly where we stood, neither of us in any state to move even if the building had caught fire around us.
“Don’t drop me,” I said, voice completely wrecked, and I wasn’t even joking, my legs were gone, my knees were gone, everything below my waist was operating on pure adrenaline and the structural support of his body against mine.
“I— I have got you,” he said, and his voice was rough, thick with something that might have been tears, might have been the aftershock of coming so hard he forgot his own name, might have been the bond-sensation bleeding through, I couldn’t tell anymore where his feelings ended and mine began.
“You’d better, I’ve got important things to do tomorrow, can’t do them from a hospital bed.” We slid down the door together after, too locked together to manage actual furniture, ending up in a tangled heap on his hallway floor with my back against the wood and him still inside me, still knotted, still pulsing with the aftershocks that rolled through both of us every few seconds.
My legs sprawled open over his thighs, his trousers still around his knees, my jeans still around my ankles, and neither of us moved to fix any of it, too wrecked and too warm and too unwilling to break whatever this was by getting up and facing the real world again.
“My back,” I said into his shoulder, and I could feel the doorframe’s pattern imprinted into my skin.
“I think I left actual skin on that door, like there’s a Nico-shaped outline in the wood now.” “I will get you a plaster, and a medal for endurance.” “I want compensation, emotional and physical, I’m thinking breakfast in bed for a week.” “I already gave you both,” he said, and there was something almost like a laugh in his voice, rough and surprised, like he hadn’t expected to find humor in this moment.
“Several times, rather loudly, if the neighbours are any indication.” “Fair point, I’ll accept the payment.” “The floor,” I said, because I was becoming aware of it now, the hard wood under my back, the cold seeping through my shirt, the absurdity of our position.
“We’re on your floor, in the hallway, with your cock still inside me and my jeans around my ankles.” “I am— I am aware, I was there.” “This is insane, this is genuinely the most insane thing I’ve ever done, and I once tried to jump a canal on a borrowed bike.” “I have never claimed otherwise, not once.” I felt his knot still pulsing inside me, aftershocks rolling through both of us every few seconds, and through the bond I caught a feeling that wasn’t mine, not quite a thought, just warmth, stupid and complete and overwhelming, bleeding over from his side into mine.
“You’re happy,” I said, surprised by it, surprised by the depth of it.
“I— I am, is that strange to hear?” “A bit, but good strange, the best kind of strange.” “Saturday’s gonna feel easy after this,” I said eventually, my voice still wrecked, still rough from his name and the screaming and the way I’d begged him not to stop.
“Just saying vows in front of people, you know, compared to this that’s nothing, that’s a walk in the park.” “Do not— do not jinx it, I have learned that saying things will be easy is the fastest way to make them difficult.” “I’m not jinxing anything, I’m just saying we’ve already done the hard part, the terrifying part, the part where you tell Henrik you’re vouching for my mum.” “The— the hard part was today’s conversation in the car park, the one where I had to tell you what I had done without knowing if you would be angry or grateful or something in between.” “And this part?” “This— this part,” he said, and he pressed his lips to my temple, unhurried now that the worst of it had burned through both of us, “this part was the reward.” “Romantic, you’re a real poet.” “I am told that occasionally, usually when I least expect it.” We stayed exactly where we’d landed, sweat-damp and ruined and tangled on the hallway floor, his knot still keeping us locked together, his cum starting to leak around the edges of it in slow warm trickles, my own release drying on my stomach, and neither of us moved to deal with any of it.
“I can feel you,” I said, quiet, because I could, through the bond, the shape of him in my head, the warmth of his presence bleeding into mine.
“In my head, I mean, I can feel you there, like a second heartbeat.” “I know, I can feel you too, like you have always been there.” “Is that weird for you?
Having someone in your head?” “It is different, but not bad, not wrong, just…
there, like a part of me I did not know was missing.”