Chapter 9 Past #6
Another unexpected turn. I’ve been around sex for a long time, longer than I think someone like Aaron would find morally digestible, which means I know that just because Aaron is a big man with a domineering personality doesn’t necessarily equal a preference for being the one doing the fucking.
But I did suspect that was where this particular encounter was heading, so this is a surprise. Thankfully not a bad one.
“Yes,” I say, a little hoarse from deep throating his cock, “I fucking would, actually, thanks for asking.”
Aaron tips his head back a little and laughs, but it isn’t a mean laugh, it’s genuine and husky, worn from lack of use.
There’s something close to happiness on his face, in the lines and shadows that curve around his ridiculously attractive features, that has my chest clenching at how stunningly beautiful it is.
It’s a good thing he doesn’t laugh very much, really, because I don’t need that kind of temptation infecting my daily life.
I don’t give him the chance to say anything that’ll ruin the moment, half standing with my hands still gripping his hips, lifting him up and manhandling him until he’s on his hands and knees on the sofa. Aaron lets himself be moved, following my lead.
“There’s lube in the med kit,” Aaron tells me while he tugs his trousers down a little more so it’ll be easier to spread his knees and open himself up to take my cock.
I don’t ask why there’s lube in the med kit, because it’s so far down on the list of things I give a shit about right now you would have to squint to see it.
Aaron remains on his hands and knees, managing to maintain a level of dignity most people would struggle with when standing and fully clothed, while I strip off my cargoes and boots to save any awkward hopping and go into the kitchen to grab the med kit from where we left it on the counter earlier.
When I push the first lubed finger into Aaron’s arsehole, he gasps in a breath that shudders its way out from his chest. I’m careful but efficient.
On another day, I might want to hang out in this intimate space and play around a bit, to find out what really gets Aaron in the gut and twists him like a hot knife.
But I know we’re too het up, teetering on the edge between bliss and destruction.
We both need this to happen now before reality digs its fangs in and all the reasons why this is a shit idea start to burn us up with their venom.
Aaron takes my second finger without much reaction, his breathing becoming just that little bit more laboured and his head dropping down as his shoulders bunch together.
I open him up, pumping in and out, spreading and hooking my fingers until I find the spot that makes him sing, his pleasure shooting through him like electricity from a split wire, firing off in different directions, sparking and crackling along those sensitive nerves inside him.
After I add a third finger, Aaron begins to show signs of real discomfort.
He’s panting out shallow, quick breaths.
His thick, muscled thighs quake from the effort to stay still, or maybe to stop himself from trying to jerk away on instinct to avoid the pressure and burn of fingers breaching him over and over again.
I lean down and press a soft kiss to small of his back, dragging my left incisor along the protruding bone there and skating my lips and tongue over hot, salty skin until I reach his hip, where I press another kiss.
I use my free hand to kneed his arse cheek, squeezing and pulling it to one side to further open up his hole.
Aaron seems to calm at the exploratory roaming of my hand and mouth, and when I hook my fingers, finding that spot again and brushing them across it, he releases a low moan that is so loud and needy that it feels like a solid punch to the solar plexus.
Suddenly, the thought of being inside him, of hearing more of those noises, has me turned all the way up to eleven. My patience snaps, and I let myself become a little more mercenary with preparing him. Aaron doesn’t complain, even thrusting back against my fingers once he adjusts to the invasion.
I lean over him to kiss the swathe of skin between his shoulder blades, then kiss him again on his neck and bite him gently on the shoulder, laving my tongue over my teeth indentations, reaching around him to stroke his cock a couple of times just to feel the heat and weight of it again in my hand.
There’s more pre-cum at the tip, and I swipe my thumb in it, bringing my hand back up to lick the pre-cum off.
I grip his hair to force his head around so I can press a hard kiss to his mouth, letting him taste himself.
Aaron shivers, gasping when I release him from the kiss, rasping a throaty, “Fuck, kid,” against my spit-and-cum-smeared lips.
“You ready to get properly fucked, Senior Agent North?” I ask, my own voice a few octaves lower than normal, clotted with lust and just a hint of that same desperation from before, when I was on my knees for him.
I’m still on my knees for him, but this time, so is he, and I’m not certain which one of us is holding the most power.
Power usually means control, and I don’t think either of us are in a good state to declare ourselves in control, of ourselves or the situation.
It’s probably not a good idea to remind him of how much he outranks me at this precise moment although Aaron doesn’t strike me as the sort of person to ignore the truth of something just because it’s convenient to do so.
“Come on then, kid,” Aaron answers, white-hot desire alongside a little delirium-induced laughter. “Fuck me ’till I can’t think. Show me what you can do with all that super stamina and strength.”
Never let it be said that I can’t take orders from a superior.
I sit back up and take hold of my hard cock, lining it up with his loosened hole.
I grasp his hip and slowly push my way inside him.
Aaron drops his head down again and braces himself while I force my cock past his clenching muscles.
His tight, wet heat envelopes me like a bonfire sucking in oxygen from the air around it.
When I bottom out inside him, a noise comes out of my mouth that I haven’t heard myself make before. It’s so raw and guttural that it hurts my throat, like a demon ripping itself out of my lungs and clawing its path to freedom.
I give Aaron a few seconds to adjust before I start rolling my hips, fucking his hole, giving it to him rough like he asked, pulling out and then breaching him again with harsh thrusts, the slap of our bodies loud and echoing around the room.
I’m not as careful with my Liquid Onyx strength as I should be, my hands gripping his hips hard enough that he’ll have bruises staining his skin when we’re done.
Aaron is generous with his moans of approval and self-possessed with his growling demands for more.
He pushes back on my cock, trying to fuck himself harder and faster than what I’m giving him, inspiring me to let loose the chain of my self-control a little bit more, fucking him with true abandon, so much so that it must hurt just as much, if not more, than it gives the other man pleasure.
We find a rhythm that works after a few minutes of testing the boundaries. It seems Aaron is used to rough handling and enjoys riding full speed into the danger zone of “too much, mayday, mayday, turn back before you end up not being able to walk for a month.”
I’m more than happy to lean into the mayhem and fuck Aaron as fast and mean as he wants.
My hips roll in time with Aaron’s at first, meeting him halfway, chasing each other’s orgasms like some people chase lighting storms or tornadoes.
But once it becomes clear to me what Aaron really wants, and with the memory of him asking me to make it so he “can’t think,” I take over, tightening my hold on his hips with one hand and using the other to shove Aaron bodily down onto the sofa, pinning him there, immobile.
This new position allows me to fuck my cock in and out of his hole without concern for his reactive movements.
Aaron makes one attempt to fight back against my theft of his autonomy, which is useless; he’s a big man, but I’m still so much stronger, easily able to hold him down with one hand until I really start going for it, fucking him with a ferocity that might scare me if I wasn’t so certain it’s what Aaron has been begging for all this time.
Aaron gives in fully, his entire body becoming pliable beneath me. It sends a rush of satisfaction to my head, making me feel almost dizzy with how good it is.
He lets himself be taken apart, ripped open like a knife slicing at an abdomen, in a deluge of powerful thrusts, especially when I find the right angle, where my cock stabs at his prostate with unfailing accuracy, snatching those wounded mewls and guttural moans from his throat like greedy hands seeking glittering jewels from a cave.
Aaron seems at the point of incoherency when he comes, and even then I don’t slow down, fucking him through his orgasm, holding back my own, nowhere near done with him. I keep going, spearing him with my cock over and over, working him up all over again.
“Jesus Christ!” Aaron chokes, voice sex drunk and slurring with it. He’s gripping the sofa as if for dear life. “Please, fuck, Rohan, it’s so fucking good … you’re so … how is it this fucking good?”
I bend down low over him to bite at his shoulder, digging my teeth in hard, too hard, pairing it with a particularly brutal thrust of my hips, filling him completely full of my cock. He lets out a strangled shout, writhing under me like he just can’t stand to feel so much intense sensation at once.
When he comes for the second time, I know it’s time to let go.
I fuck him for a few more minutes before allowing my own orgasm to take hold of me, and it’s so strong, so bone deep, that I swear my mind whites out.
Lost in a profound pleasure I might literally kill and die to feel again, I drift on the high for as long as I can, knowing I definitely won’t be getting a repeat.
Returning to myself is a jarring process.
I’ve collapsed on top of Aaron. Very bad sex etiquette, technically, although Aaron seems too exhausted to care.
I only give myself a handful of seconds to enjoy the closeness and heat of the other man before pulling my softening cock from Aaron’s scorching-hot hole and forcing my body off his.
Aaron must sense that I’m about to retreat entirely, both in a physical and emotional sense, the sirens in my head that scream at me to protect myself at all costs going off at full volume.
I usually listen to those sirens, as they’ve quite literally saved my life in the past. But Aaron doesn’t let me go without a fight this time.
He flips over onto his back, only wincing slightly at the rawness he must be feeling at his hole, and grabs for me, tugging me down on top of him.
I go easily, an untenable weakness overtaking my better judgement, and drape myself over Aaron, who doesn’t hesitate to wrap his large arms around me.
We fit together better than I would have thought given our differences in size.
I rest my head on his chest, curling up against him, making myself even smaller, like a cat finding a spot to settle in for a nap.
Aaron’s arms curl tighter, trapping me against him more securely and tangling our legs so we’re really locked in. His chest rises and falls with slight irregularity, and I can feel the heart that’s still mildly racing behind his ribs.
After a while of us breathing together, no words spoken, the silence that hangs between us heavy and loud enough to say everything we both need to know, Aaron shifts a hand up to slide his fingers into my hair.
He makes a fist, lightly gripping the dark strands.
It’s a surprisingly possessive touch and one that could be confusing if I let myself think about it in more than superficial terms.
“Will you leave?” Aaron asks, voice still rasping from all the noise. When I don’t answer right away, he adds, “Now you know that OI hasn’t recreated Liquid Onyx, and the survivors are safe, will you quit the agency?”
It’s a fair question. I came to FISA because we had a shared goal, but the need for that alliance is no longer required, at least not on my part. I could very easily go back to what I’d been doing before, which mostly meant dismantling my dad’s empire one brick—one explosion—at a time.
But.
“No,” I say. “Can’t. Signed a contract in black ink. HRzilla would hunt me down and cut off my balls for wasting the agency’s valuable biro reserves.”
There’s a pause before Aaron snorts out a laugh at that.
“Liz wouldn’t chase down anyone,” he says. “She’d get me to do it.”
Another weighty pause. Then.
“Would you hunt me down if I left?”
I’m not sure why I’m asking. I’m not sure why it matters. But for some reason, inexplicably, it does.
Aaron hesitates before answering, and it’s as if I can actually hear the cogs turning in his mind, like he either doesn’t know what he’d do, or he does, and he just doesn’t want to tell me.
“Don’t leave,” he says instead of directly answering the question.
It sounds like an admission anyway.
“Alright, then,” I say, breathing out slowly, releasing some of the tension from where it’s closing in around my heart. “I’ll stay.”
It doesn’t mean anything, really. It doesn’t change anything about tomorrow. But the almost imperceptible sigh of relief that slips from Aaron’s mouth still feels like something that matters.