“Perfect,” he whispers again, tugging one more time at my rim to see me gaping open for him.
There’s a sharp crack that splits the air, and a second later I feel the pain of where he brought the flat of his hand down on my exposed hole. Every muscle in my body clenches and I almost have a repeat of before and come from the sharp, harsh pain. But not quite.
Moaning and writhing on the floor like a lost, feckless creature, Micah doesn’t give me the chance to recover as he grabs my hips and thrusts his cock back into me. With one hand on the small of my back pushing me hard into the ground and the other digging more bruises into my hip, he pounds me brutally for a few minutes until he finally stiffens and cries out, pulsing his release deep, deep inside of me.
I clench around him, milking as much as I can. He doesn’t stop there, though. As soon as he pulls out, he braces my thighs where they are, and I can feel him bring his face close to my hole.
“Push it out.” His voice is dangerous.
I do as he says, and there’s a soft moan while he watches his own cum seep from my hole and trail down my taint, dripping to the floor.
My hips are rocking in the air as I do it, already desperate for another release. Micah doesn’t make me wait this time, though. He attacks my ass, licking and sucking his release out of me with an aggression that makes me cry out. My hips buck, but he hangs on and digs his tongue into my hole like he’s desperate to excavate me.
“Oh, oh, oh, oh — Oh!” is the most articulate noise I can make.
His face is still buried in the center of me when I come again this time, spilling myself onto the floor underneath me one more time, my hips bucking into nothingness before I eventually drain myself completely and collapse in the mess.
Everything hurts. Every inch of my body is screaming, but it’s a cleansing kind of pain. I’ve experienced so many different kinds of pain in my life, but nothing like this. I’ve never come this hard or this many times or even had the urge.
I’d let him do anything he wanted to me. He can rub raw any inch of my skin and tear open any hole, because the sheer, relieved bliss that’s sitting at the deep, dark center of all this pain is fucking indescribable, and it’s all because of him.
Micah
“How do you feel?”
Tadhg has been lying on the kitchen floor with me, covering my sticky, sweaty skin with his for a long time. We should probably get up and move, but I don’t want to. I think I can see the first tendrils of dawn light creeping around the curtains, but I don’t care about that either.
The only thing I care about is right in front of me. I’m scared I went too far. I’m scared about how far I wanted to go and how fucking desperate I was for it as soon as we started. Just as desperate as he seemed to be, bucking and writhing and begging for more.
Tadhg doesn’t answer. I feel him shrug, but no words come out of his mouth and his face stays pressed against my skin, where he’s been alternating between nosing and biting along my chest and armpit since we collapsed here. His body looks bruised and scratched, but his face is soft, at least. There’s none of the blankness he gets when he’s dissociating, or the maudlin weight of his depression that so often creeps in.
Just because he looks content though, doesn’t mean I’m not worried we just crossed a line. Or a thousand of them. Maybe all the lines.
“Words, doll. Use your words.” I know I’m repeating myself with this, but it’s become very obvious that my dearest stepbrother is a natural and seems to slip into subspace as soon as I let him.
“’M fine. Sleepy.”
Close enough.
“That was okay, though? I know I can get a little carried away sometimes.”
“Mmm.” There’s a pause, and then he finally does peek out enough to look at me. “I think I needed it. It felt… right. Good. Pure.”
I blink. I wasn’t expecting him to say that, but it is kind of a relief. He goes back to his work, while I trace nonsensepatterns up and down all the swells of muscle on his ridiculously thick arm, and we both continue to drift back to a more normal version of reality.
Eventually, I can’t keep quiet anymore. There’s a question that’s been burning a hole in my brain for a long time, and it seems like this soft, post-orgasmic time is as good a time to ask it as any.
“Tadhg, are you gay?”
That makes him freeze. But he looks up at me again instead of freaking out and running away, at least.
“I, um,” he starts, stumbling a little over his words. “I don’t know. I don’t really know what that’s supposed to feel like.”
I have to suppress a laugh. “It feels like when you like dick. It’s not that complicated.” Shit.Empathy, Micah.Not cool. I spent so long honing my defense mechanism sass that sometimes it still comes out in really inappropriate moments, and I hate that about myself. “Sorry, it is complicated. There’s lots of places to fall on the spectrum. You don’t have to give me a yes or no. There’s no wrong answer. I just wanted to see how you felt.”
“I never really wanted to fuck anyone, to be honest,” he continues. “The whole thing seemed stressful. Like some kind of test that you can never pass. But you had to do it anyway. I don’t know what that means. Like you said, I’m fucked in the head.”
“I didn’t say that, dick. I said you had trauma. I have trauma.Wehave trauma. It’s not the same. You’re allowed to not know how you really feel when it’s buried under all this other shit. I shouldn’t push.”
