3 #2
This time there was nothing clinical about it.
Rukheim worked him with slow, thorough attention, his tongue pressing flat against the sensitive underside, his lips sealing tight around the shaft.
Scott's hips bucked, and Rukheim's hands pinned them down with easy strength, holding him still while the alpha's mouth slid up and down in a rhythm that made Scott's breath fracture into broken gasps.
When Scott was leaking steadily and his thighs were shaking, Rukheim pulled off and replaced his mouth with two slick fingers, pushing in deep while Scott keened.
"You take them so easily now," Rukheim murmured, working in a third finger and curling them against that swollen place. "Your body knows what it needs."
Scott couldn't answer. His hands fisted in the pelts, and his hole fluttered and clenched around the intrusion, pulling it deeper.
The heat was climbing more, a fevered pulse that made everything sharper and more urgent.
Rukheim's fingers pumped in and out in a steady, relentless rhythm, and Scott's cock bounced against his stomach with every stroke, leaving shiny streaks on his skin.
"Please," Scott heard himself say. "Please, I need..."
"I know what you need." Rukheim withdrew his fingers slowly, leaving Scott empty and aching, and positioned himself between Scott's thighs.
The blunt head of his cock pressed against Scott's slick entrance, hot and heavy and impossibly thick.
"Look at me," Rukheim said, and Scott's eyes snapped to his face. "I want you to feel every inch."
He pushed in.
The stretch was overwhelming, a slow, inexorable pressure that forced Scott open inch by inch.
Rukheim didn't rush. He sank in with deliberate care, pausing to let Scott adjust, his jaw tight with the effort of restraint.
Scott's body welcomed him anyway, inner muscles rippling and giving way until Rukheim was seated to the hilt and they were both breathing hard into the quiet space between them.
Then Rukheim began to move.
Long, deep strokes that dragged over every sensitive place inside him.
The wet sounds of it filled the room, slick and obscene.
Scott's hands found Rukheim's shoulders and clung there, nails digging into scarred skin.
The alpha's rhythm was controlled, almost devastatingly so, each thrust hitting that swollen spot with unerring precision until Scott was writhing beneath him and making sounds he didn't recognize as his own.
"That's it," Rukheim said, voice gone rough. "Let it happen."
The knot began to swell.
Scott felt it on every outward drag, a growing pressure catching at his rim, stretching him wider each time.
His breath stuttered. His heart hammered so hard he could feel it in his throat.
Rukheim pushed in deep and held there, grinding in short, powerful rolls of his hips as the knot locked them together with a final, irreversible pressure that made Scott cry out.
The orgasm hit him hard. His cock pulsed untouched between their bodies, painting both their stomachs in thick, hot streaks.
His hole clamped down rhythmically around the locked knot, milking it in spasms that seemed to go on forever, and Rukheim's own release followed in deep, heavy pulses that filled him until Scott felt overfull and claimed and completely undone.
The relief was absolute, a biological answer to a question his body had been screaming since the first wave of heat, and it left him hollowed out and trembling.
They stayed locked together for a long time.
Rukheim shifted them carefully onto their sides, still buried deep, one heavy arm wrapped around Scott's waist and the other hand stroking slow, mindless circles on his back.
Scott's face was pressed against the alpha's chest, and the tears came without warning, hot and silent, soaking into Rukheim's skin.
He didn't know why he was crying. He only knew that the knot still throbbed inside him, tying him to this man, and his body was still humming with the aftershocks of a pleasure so complete it had wiped out everything he used to believe about himself.
The straight boy who wanted a quiet life with a soft-voiced girl.
The future he had carefully constructed.
All of it lay in pieces, and in the quiet dark of the nest, with Rukheim's arms around him, Scott whispered the words that finished the destruction.
"I loved it."
His voice was barely a breath against the alpha's skin, cracked and horrified.
Rukheim's arms tightened, and he made a low, soothing sound, mistaking the tears for the natural crash after a first knotting, the overwhelm of sensation giving way to exhaustion.
He held Scott closer and murmured something wordless against his hair, and Scott lay there feeling the slow, rhythmic pulse of the knot still tying them together, feeling the alpha's release warm inside him, and feeling utterly, completely lost.
Dawn came pale and gray through the window. The knot had eased enough for them to separate, leaving Scott's body aching and hollow and strangely cold. He cleaned himself with shaking hands, dressed in silence, and slipped out the door before Rukheim could say anything that would make it worse.
The path home was quiet. The pack was still asleep, the longhall dark, the spring birds just beginning their first tentative calls.
Scott walked with his arms wrapped around himself, every step a reminder of the places where his body had been stretched and filled and remade.
His legs trembled. His hole still felt open and used, and some traitorous part of him wanted to turn around and go back.
He didn't.
Fynn was sitting on the porch steps when Scott reached his cabin.
His best friend's hands were clasped between his knees, his shoulders hunched, his hair messy like he'd been running his fingers through it for hours.
When he looked up, his eyes were red-rimmed and raw, and the sight of them hit Scott harder than anything Rukheim had done to his body.
Fynn's voice came out broken, the words cracking in the middle.
"You could have told me you were still sick. I was scared."