RAGNAR #5
Suddenly it’s too much. Sun lets out a low grunt and starts to come, thick, pearly white jets splashing the wall, and at the exact same moment, I explode for the second time. Literally bursting. The pleasure is searing, rippling through me, taking my breath away.
For a brief instant, everything goes black, my body arches like a bow as I shoot into Sun.
Fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. So good. So fucking good…
My fingers instinctively wrap around his cock, and I feel it twitch as pleasure still seeps through him. His passage clenches in spasms, and Sun trembles, gasping loudly.
Good. Good. He deserves to come for a change, to shake from the intensity, to forget everything for a moment. A lustful break.
It’s not easy to come together, but this time we did. I smirk to myself. Now that’s what I call a good fuck.
Slowly, I pull out of his ass.
The condom’s full of cum. And I mean full . I slide it off, holding it up so Sun can see it. Shit, there’s probably a glassful in there. I haven’t come like this in ages. Lately, it’s just been jerking off to porn. Damn, I missed this.
My eyes fix on his stretched-out hole, which gapes at me. A very welcome view. He looks thoroughly fucked, barely able to stand. His fingers are still gripping the faucet. But he’s not looking at me.
I take a step back. He stays in the same position, bent over, ass out, that raw, open hole of his still pointing right at me. I feel a flicker in my groin but force myself to stay calm. I wait for his reaction. Wait for him to say something, anything.
Then I see something strange.
He lowers his head, and a subtle shiver runs down his back and across his perfect, long neck, where the gold collar gleams. For a moment, I don’t get it.
But then it hits me.
The guy’s crying! No fucking way.
That’s a first!
Making someone cry from sex. Not exactly my dream scenario.
I stand there like an idiot, no clue what to do. I’ve never been in a long-term relationship. I’ve never had to deal with anyone’s more… complicated feelings. The army was my whole life, and my love. The platoon buddies I fucked? None of them expected cuddles and support afterward.
I don’t even know if I’m the kind of guy who’s cut out for close relationships. I’m different. People would have a hard time accepting what I really am, especially if they saw me fully shifted. Not many people could handle that. So, why even try?
"Did something happen?" I finally manage. "Are you hurt? In pain?"
It sounds stiff. Clinical. But it’s my best try at being polite.
"No, I’m not hurt," he says flatly.
I don’t know what else to say. Let’s be honest: I don’t even know who this kid is. Not a clue about his past. None of us came to this fortress for romance. And my head can’t be on the lookout for that, that’s for sure.
Sex? Okay, I can handle that. But this is crossing into intimacy territory, and that’s not the right moment, not during a mission.
So why do I feel like a total asshole the longer the silence stretches?
Finally, I can’t take it. I curse under my breath and straighten up. I won’t get sucked into this. There’s already too much shit going on.
He straightens up too, runs his fingers through his hair in a nervous, twitchy motion, then turns toward me, and his eyes are red and wet.
Fuck. Not good. But he wanted the sex, begged for it! Why the hell should I feel guilty over whatever emotional struggle he’s having?
"Then what’s the problem?" I ask, just as flat.
"Forget it. You don’t need to care," he mutters, looking away.
And yet I care, somehow. Though I don’t show it. And I feel him—how odd… This deep, gnawing unhappiness coming off him like a shock to my nervous system. I’ve never picked up someone else’s emotions this clearly before.
This kid feels… wrecked.
What should I do now, rush away? Not a word?
God, I know this part all too well. Back at the base, after every hookup in a storage room, there was always that awkward silence. None of us knew what to say. We’d just split and go our separate ways.
Is this what he wants?
The kid runs his fingers through his hair again, rubs his jaw, flexes and unflexes his fingers; these little fidgety movements make it clear how lost he is. I watch them in silence.
If I were a normal guy, I’d probably say something to ease the tension, maybe even comfort him. A word to soften the edge of that sorrow radiating off him.
But I don’t. And probably shouldn’t. I can’t build something here that was never meant to be built.
This kid’s Anzo’s boy. He’ll never be mine. Trying to make this into anything real would be doomed to fail.
"I have to go. Luca told me to clean up and leave. I shouldn’t hang around any longer."
I turn on the shower and rinse away the sex and his scent as quickly as I can.
He stands against the wall, stiff and motionless, the occasional tear still rolling down his cheek.
Dammit, why? It was such a good fuck, but it ended like this. Why did I even give in to his pleading? Now it’s a mess.
I step out and grab a towel, jaw clenched. That’s when he speaks, voice quiet.
"I left you some clothes on the bed. A big T-shirt, it used to be my brother’s, and a pair of elastic shorts. They should fit."
"Thanks," I say tersely.
Then I glance at my face in the mirror over the sink. My forehead has already regenerated; no bullet bruise is left. Perks of being a monster, I guess. Though there are downsides, as this situation shows.
My sensitivity is not as sharp as other people's, and even when I try to work on it, it does not always come through.
Our eyes meet in the reflection. His are so… sad.
I’m about to turn and walk out of the bathroom, but something stops me in my tracks.
My conscience.
"Sun… I wanted to thank you too. For your courage. I noticed what you tried to do when they shot at me. You pushing Vito gave me a much-needed time to shake off the dizziness. I appreciate it. It was very brave of you."
It’s the least I can give him.
Then, so as not to drag this out, I leave the bathroom fast. It takes less than a minute to get dressed.
He stays in there.
And I don’t go back.
With quite a rush, I get the fuck out of there, praying that Mauro and Luca haven’t turned the cameras back on yet.
By some miracle, I make it down the stairs and out the door, then walk along the wall toward the passageway. Nobody sees me.
Bonzo still isn’t at his post, so I slip through unnoticed. At the outer gatehouse, a few guards are chatting animatedly, not paying me any mind.
It’s a rare moment when they lose their usual cautiousness, not caring if some associates can hear them.
I slow down near the line of cars parked in the passageway, but I can’t stop. I should get out of the central garden and keep my distance from the people working here. Follow my rule of not engaging, staying low-key, which seems almost funny after what I just did.
But yeah, I should at least try to use the chance Luca and Mauro gave me. One last straw of hope to push on with the mission.
A piece of their convo reaches me.
"…The fucker had it coming, but damn… it was crazy!"
"Rocco’s gonna lose his shit. Vito was the apple of his eye…"
"Luca went full-on berserk…"
The moment I go past them, one of them, Matteo, turns his head toward me and screams,
"Hey, Rag! Did you hear what happened?"
That’s new. None of them have ever asked me anything about the events in the fortress.
"No, I heard gunshots, but stayed by the planters on the east side."
"Good! And keep your mouth shut. That’s not your business!"
He should be the one taking his own advice. I only nod and rush away toward the lavender beds.
But what’s going on in my head? Better not to ask.
It’s a fucking mess in there. I just really went too far this time.
In every possible way.