I’m also in better shape than he is.
While he’s an inch shorter than me, he’s a little broader than I am and has a few pounds on me, so it evens us out. Plus, he knows he can come after me a lot harder than I will him. Mostly because it’d be difficult to explain how the VP accidentally got a shiner wrestling with his body man.
Rather not go there. Not even to make the perfectly plausible excuse that he slipped and fell in the shower, because that makes him look weak.
I don’t even help him with Duck. He keeps one eye on me as he hurries and slides out of it, stripping off his socks, liner, and inner sock and leaving them where they fall.
I launch myself at him, knocking him back on the bed, and then it’son.
Jordan once told me it looked like we were trying to kill each other. Until he was used to seeing us play like this, it horrified him. Jordan’s strong and tough in his own ways but either of us could easily subdue him in an otherwise fair fight. I taught Jordan a few basic moves but primal, feral play like this isn’t really his thing.
Didn’t help that, if I pinned him, he liked it, and it always took the fight right out of him.
Not Elliot.
We both bite and claw and pinch in a mating ritual that isn’t about dominance as much as it is burning off the emotional byproducts of our time apart and what we’ve each had to deal with alone.
I can’t speak for what it is specifically for him. For me, it’s pain and grief and anger.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re both starting to tire. We’ve worked up a sweat and are literally covered with marks when he falters and I finally use an aikido pin to subdue him. What I usually do is end up pinning him, and whether or not I release him so we can continue depends on whether or not he keeps struggling or safewords.
He struggles. I’m about to deepen the hold when he speaks, his voice sounding choked. “Master.”
I immediately release him and sit up on my knees. He’s on his stomach and from the way his body shakes, I know he’s crying.
Gathering him into my arms, I hold him, rock him, let him cry it out with my arms and legs wrapped around him and cradling him now. I don’t try to make him talk and I don’t break the silence.
He needs this.
He needs permission to be weak, to vent, to purge.
I keep my body wrapped around his and hold him until he’s cried out nearly fifteen minutes later.
Then I kiss him and reach between us to find his cock. He hardens in my hand and it only takes me a couple of minutes to stroke one out of him.
He’s short of breath again but this time it’s from the orgasm I just gave him.
My cock’s hard now but I can wait.
I need to make sure he’s taken care of.
He finally sits up and his adorable chuckle makes me smile. “Damn.” He examines one particularly hard bite mark on his left bicep that nearly broke the skin. “You got me good.”
I prop myself up on one arm. “Isn’t that what you wanted?” I reach out and touch it, not-so-secretly proud he’s wearing marks I gave him.
He leans in and kisses me. “Yes, Master.”
“Shower.” I drag myself out of bed and retrieve his walker for him, which the detail left in here with his bags. I also grab his folding shower chair and position it in there. Five minutes later, he’s on his knees in the shower and I’m driving my cock down his throat, making him take it.
Not at all like the first weekend we spent together, when I was careful and made sure not to force him to do anything.
I know he can deep-throat me, even if it’s been a while. I also know what he really wants now is me fully staking my ownership of him.
That’s why I dig my fingers into the back of his head as I fuck his mouth. “This what you need, pet? You miss the taste of me and need me to breed that goddamned gorgeous mouth of yours, now that I reminded you who’s in charge?”
He moans, his hands clutching the back of my thighs as I ram into him. His eyes are open and trained on me and this time his tears are from what I’m doing to him, not from pent-up emotions.
His cock is hard again, which I expected.
