Then Clyde pulled back—slow, deliberate, the drag of every inch making Aerion’s mouth fall open in a soundless moan. For a heartbeat he hovered at the edge, the blunt head of his cock just inside, and then he drove back in with one long, merciless thrust that knocked the breath from Aerion’s lungs.
“Gods—” Aerion cried, his voice breaking into a sob.
Clyde growled low in his throat and set a rhythm of deep, punishing strokes that slammed Aerion into the mattress, the bedframe striking the stone wall in time with their bodies. Every thrust forced a cry from Aerion, sharp, desperate, unguarded. His nails raked furrows into Clyde’s back, legs locked tight around his waist, dragging him in harder, deeper, as though he could fuse them together.
The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the chamber, slick and brutal. Clyde’s cock split him open with each stroke, hitting deep, striking that spot inside him that made Aerion’s vision shatter into white stars.
“Yes—there—gods, there—” Aerion gasped, half-scream, half-prayer. His hips bucked helplessly against the relentless rhythm, chasing it, meeting it, surrendering to it.
Clyde bent lower, mouth crushing Aerion’s again, swallowing every moan, every broken plea. His tongue was rough, insistent, as if he could devour the sounds straight from Aerion’s throat. Their sweat slicked bodies slid together, skin to skin, heat to heat, until nothing separated them.
“Fuck—you feel—” Aerion choked out, voice wrecked, “—you feel like you’ve been inside me forever—”
Clyde’s answer was a guttural snarl against his lips, his pace quickening, his thrusts slamming harder, rougher, branding Aerion from the inside out. The mattress creaked and shifted beneath them, the sheets tangling around Aerion’s shaking legs.
Aerion clung to him like a drowning man, body undone, gasping, sobbing, begging. “Don’t stop—please, don’t—”
Clyde drove into him with brutal precision, every stroke deeper than the last, until Aerion’s cries dissolved into raw, incoherent sound. His cock jerked against his stomach, leaking, untouched, his climax building sharp and unbearable with every thrust.
“Clyde—” he screamed, his voice breaking, “I can’t—I’m—”
Release ripped through him, violent, overwhelming, his body arching off the bed as he spilled hot across his stomach and their chests. His vision went white, every nerve aflame.
Clyde followed with a shuddering groan, driving into him hard, burying himself to his balls as he spilled deep, his body seizing, his breath hot and ragged against Aerion’s ear.
For a long moment they stayed locked together, Clyde pulsing inside him, Aerion trembling around him, both of them gasping, shaking, undone.
The chamber was silent but for their breathing.
Clyde lay heavy against him, sweat cooling, lips pressed to the curve of Aerion’s throat. Aerion’s fingers traced the line of his scar absently, reverently, as if afraid to let go.
“Dangerous man,” he whispered into Clyde’s hair, softer this time.
Clyde said nothing.
But his arm tightened around him.
And Aerion, for once, was content in silence.
Morning came with the cruelty of sunlight.
Aerion woke alone.
The sheets were still warm where Clyde had lain, the pillow faintly indented, carrying the scent of smoke and steel that clung to him no matter how the world tried to wash it away. Aerion reached out, hand splaying across the emptiness, dragging through the linen as if he could summon him back.
But the chamber was hollow.
Clyde was already dressing.
Aerion sat up, bare-chested, hair tangled, the robe he had shrugged off at midnight draped useless across the bedpost. He watched in silence as Clyde fastened the last strap of his armour with careful, measured precision. Each movement carried a finality Aerion could taste like ash.
“You should stay,” Aerion said, voice rough from the night before.
Clyde’s back remained to him. “I can’t.”
Aerion swung his legs to the floor, the cool stone shocking against bare feet. “You can. You just won’t.”
That earned a pause, but not a turn. Clyde slid his gauntlet into place, flexed his hand, tested the grip. His silence was a wall, his body a fortress.
