Chapter 27: Unsheathing the Knight
The chill of the rain still clung to Yamato’s armor, a sharp counterpoint to the feverish heat radiating from Taichi on the bed. Yamato didn’t break their locked gaze as his hands went to the intricate buckles at his shoulders. The first clasp gave way with a solid snick that seemed too loud in the quiet room. He shed the pauldrons, letting them fall to the floorboards with a heavy, unceremonious thud.
Piece by piece, the knight dismantled his shell. The cuirass followed, then the vambraces from his forearms, the greaves from his shins. Each piece hit the floor with a resonant clatter, a testament to their weight, to the life he wore. Soon, he stood in just his damp linen undershirt and trousers, the fabric clinging to the hard planes of his chest and thighs. Taichi watched, propped on his elbows, his breath catching. He’d seen Yamato’s strength, his swagger, but this was different. This was a deliberate unveiling.
With a final tug, Yamato pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it aside.
Taichi’s mouth went dry.
The body before him was a map of violence and survival. A thick, roped scar slashed diagonally from his right collarbone down across the dense muscle of his pectoral. Another, older and silvery, notched his rib cage. Smaller nicks and grooves marked his arms, his stomach, a pale web of old stories written on pale skin. He was all power and damage, and Taichi felt a sudden, desperate urge to touch every line.
“See something you like, brewer?” Yamato’s voice was a low rumble, but the usual teasing note was strained, overlaid with a raw need that made Taichi shiver.
“Just taking inventory,” Taichi managed, his own voice husky. “Looks like you’ve been careless.”
A slow smile touched Yamato’s lips. He came to the bed, kneeling on it, the old frame groaning under his weight. He caged Taichi with his hands on either side of his head, leaning down. “Come audit me, then.”
Taichi reached up. His fingers, calloused from barrels and brews, touched the largest scar first, tracing its ragged length with a touch so light it was barely there. He felt Yamato shudder above him, a full-body tremor. Emboldened, Taichi mapped the other, his thumb brushing a nipple that tightened instantly under the pad of his thumb. He learned the terrain of him, the hot, smooth skin stretched over unyielding muscle, the dusting of golden hair across his chest that trailed down his stomach.
Yamato lowered his head, capturing Taichi’s mouth again. This kiss was slower, deeper, a savoring. Taichi could taste the rain and the faint, metallic tang of the armor, and underneath, the pure, potent essence of the alpha himself. It went to his head faster than his strongest mead. His hands left Yamato’s torso to fist in his hair, pulling him closer, kissing him back with a clumsy, frantic hunger.
He felt Yamato’s hands on his tunic, rucking the fabric up. Cool air hit his stomach, and then those big, warm palms were on his skin, scorching him. “Off,” Yamato grunted against his lips. “All of it.”
They broke apart long enough for Yamato to haul the tunic over Taichi’s head. His trousers and smalls followed in a quick, efficient motion, leaving Taichi bare and sprawled on his own quilt. The vulnerability should have chilled him, but the heat in Yamato’s blue eyes was a brand. He stared, his gaze roaming over Taichi’s slender, taut frame, the flush that spread from his cheeks down his chest, the hardening length of him lying against his stomach.
“Fuck, Taichi,” Yamato breathed, the words thick with awe. “You’re perfect.”
Before Taichi could muster a retort, Yamato was moving. He pushed Taichi’s thighs apart, settling between them with a focused intensity that stole the air from Taichi’s lungs. He leaned down, not to kiss his mouth, but to press his face into the junction of Taichi’s thigh and groin, inhaling deeply. A ragged groan vibrated against Taichi’s sensitive skin.
“You smell like heaven,” Yamato muttered, his voice muffled. “Spices and honey and that fucking scent that’s been driving me out of my mind since I walked into your damned tavern.”
Taichi could feel it himself—the slick, hot and insistent, beginning to well from him, his body responding to the alpha’s proximity, to his scent, to the sheer want in the room. His pheromones, usually a subtle undertone, were spiking, flooding the space with the promise of readiness. He could see it affecting Yamato, whose eyes had darkened to near black, his own scent of pine and storm intensifying, going sharp and predatory.
Then Yamato’s tongue swept over him.
It was a broad, hot stripe from his perineum up over his hole, and Taichi jolted, a shocked cry tearing from his throat. His back arched off the bed. “Yamato!”
Yamato didn’t answer with words. He answered with action. He buried his face between Taichi’s ass cheeks, his tongue lapping at the omega’s entrance with relentless, wet strokes. He licked into him, sucking at the tight ring of muscle, teasing it open with the blunt tip of his tongue. The obscene, slick sounds filled the room, mingling with Taichi’s broken, hiccupping gasps. Pleasure, white-hot and shocking, arrowed through Taichi’s core. He’d touched himself before, of course he had, but this… this was something else. This was another person’s mouth, another person’s will, reducing him to a shuddering, mindless thing within moments.
“Oh, gods—right there, fuck, please—” Taichi babbled, his hands scrabbling at Yamato’s hair, pushing him closer, then tugging, lost in the sensation.
Yamato groaned against him, the vibration making Taichi see stars. He added a finger, circling the wet, loosened furl before pressing the tip inside. Taichi clenched around it instinctively, a tight, hot burn that quickly melted into a sharper need. Yamato worked his finger in deeper, crooking it, and his mouth never stopped its devastating rhythm. He added a second finger, stretching him, the burn a bright, perfect counterpoint to the liquid fire licking through his veins.
“You’re so tight,” Yamato rasped, lifting his head finally. His chin was glistening with Taichi’s slick. His eyes were wild. “So fucking perfect and tight. Gonna ruin you for anyone else. Gonna make you remember who fucks you.”
“Just… do it,” Taichi sobbed, beyond pride, beyond thought. His body was a single, throbbing point of need. “Stop talking and fuck me. Please.”
The ‘please’ did it. Yamato’s control seemed to fracture. He shifted up, fumbling with the laces of his own trousers. He freed himself, and Taichi’s eyes widened. He’d felt the hard line of him through their clothes, but seeing him was different. He was thick, the head flushed a deep red, and at the base, the beginnings of a swelling knot was already evident. Precum beaded at the tip.
Yamato spat into his palm, slicked himself roughly, and then notched the head of his cock against Taichi’s soaked, stretched hole. He leaned over Taichi, bracing his weight on one arm, the other hand cupping Taichi’s face. “Look at me,” he commanded, his voice guttural.
Taichi forced his hazy eyes to focus. Yamato’s face was sheened with sweat, his expression a mask of barely-leashed ferocity and something else, something terrifyingly tender.
He pushed in.
The stretch was immense, overwhelming. Taichi cried out, his nails digging into Yamato’s scarred back. He was filled, utterly and completely, a slow, burning invasion that stole his breath. Yamato held still, jaw clenched, trembling with the effort. “Breathe, Taichi. Breathe for me.”
Taichi dragged in a shuddering gasp, and as he exhaled, his body yielded, accepting him deeper. Yamato sank the rest of the way in, a low, broken sound escaping his own throat as he bottomed out, their hips meeting. They were locked together, fused. Taichi felt impossibly full, stretched to his limit, every nerve ending alight.
“Fuck,” Yamato whispered, burying his face in Taichi’s neck. “You feel… you feel like home.”
Then he began to move.
He started slow, a deep, rolling withdrawal followed by an even deeper, grinding thrust. It was a rhythm meant to devour, to possess. Each stroke dragged against that place inside Taichi that made his vision blur. He wrapped his legs around Yamato’s waist, heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him in harder, deeper.
“Harder,” Taichi gasped. “Stop fucking coddling me.”
A feral grin flashed across Yamato’s face. “Your mouth,” he grunted, but he obliged. His thrusts lost their measured pace, becoming powerful, driving pistons. The bed slammed against the wall in a frantic, rhythmic bang. The sounds of their bodies meeting, skin slapping against sweat-slick skin, of Taichi’s high, desperate moans and Yamato’s guttural groans, drowned out the rain.
Yamato shifted the angle, and on the next thrust, he hammered directly into Taichi’s prostate.
White fire exploded behind Taichi’s eyelids. He screamed, a raw, unfiltered sound of pure ecstasy. His cock jerked between them, untouched, and he came in hot, pulsing stripes across his own stomach and chest, his body clamping down violently around Yamato’s driving cock.
The convulsing tightness tipped Yamato over the edge. With a snarl that was pure alpha, he buried himself to the hilt, his knot swelling rapidly, locking them together as he emptied himself in hot, relentless pulses deep inside Taichi. The feeling of being filled, claimed, marked so profoundly, sent Taichi spiraling into a second, smaller wave of pleasure, his oversensitive body shuddering through it.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the creak of the bed settling. Yamato, trapped by his knot, collapsed carefully to his side, pulling Taichi with him so they lay joined, facing each other. He was still inside him, still throbbing faintly.
Sweat cooled on their skin. Yamato’s hand came up, clumsy in his exhaustion, and brushed the damp hair from Taichi’s forehead. Taichi’s eyes were closed, his long lashes fanned against his cheeks.
“Taichi?” Yamato’s voice was rough, spent.
“Hmm?”
“You still with me?”
Taichi cracked an eye open. The defiance was gone, replaced by a sated, bone-deep languor. “Unfortunately.”
A slow, genuine smile spread across Yamato’s face. He leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Taichi’s swollen lips. When he pulled back, he murmured the words against Taichi’s mouth, so quiet they were almost lost in the sound of the rain.
“Mine.”