Chapter 55: A Day of Breeding
The heavy, satisfied languor from the hearth rug lasted only as long as the knot itself.As it softened and Yamato slipped free, a startling, visceral emptiness followed. Taichi gasped at the sensation, at the sudden loss of that impossible fullness, feeling slick and come begin to leak from him onto the wool beneath his thighs.
He expected Yamato to roll away, to fetch a cloth, to do something sane. Instead, the alpha shifted, his hands gripping Taichi’s hips once more, his spent cock already hardening again against the back of Taichi’s thigh. Yamato’s breath was hot on his neck.
“Told you,” Yamato murmured, his voice a rough scrape. “Most of the day.”
“You’ve got to be joking,” Taichi breathed, but even as he said it, his body arched back, seeking the pressure. His hole, stretched and sensitized, twitched eagerly.
“Never joke about this.”
Yamato guided himself back in, a slower, smoother penetration this time, but no less profound for its ease. Taichi’s breath hitched. He was so open, so loose, that Yamato slid deep in one motion, hilting himself with a groan. The stretch was different now—a deep, aching fullness that pressed against all his oversensitive inner places.
“Fuck, you’re still so tight,” Yamato panted, beginning a rolling, deep grind. “Feel how you’re clinging to me.”
It was relentless. They dozed fitfully between rounds, Taichi half-sprawled across Yamato’s chest, still impaled. Each time Yamato hardened, the swelling knot would nudge Taichi awake, and the alpha would start moving again, a lazy, deep rocking that built into something more urgent. Each orgasm from Yamato was a hot, pumping flood that Taichi felt deep in his gut. His own releases became shorter, sharper, more desperate sounds pulled from his throat, until he was spent, his cock aching and oversensitive.
By mid-afternoon, Taichi was babbling. They were on the rug again, Yamato driving into him from behind, one hand braced on the floor, the other wrapped around Taichi’s stomach, holding him up.Taichi’s face was pressed into a cushion, his words muffled.
“...can’t, it’s too much, Yamato, please—”
“Please what?” Yamato growled, his thrusts never faltering. The slap of their skin was a constant, damp rhythm.His knot began to swell, that familiar, stretching pressure.
“Please don’t stop,” Taichi sobbed, the contradiction wrenching from his very core. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.”
The knot locked, and Yamato came with a shuddering roar, his teeth sinking into the junction of Taichi’s neck and shoulder, not breaking the skin but branding him with the promise of it. Taichi shook through another powerless climax, a thin, hot stripe of release painting the rug beneath him.
When Yamato could move, he pulled out, and the gush of fluid that followed was embarrassing. Taichi whimpered, feeling hollowed out and yet still achingly empty. Yamato looked down at him, at the mess of slick and seed that gleamed on his thighs, on the rug.A predatory smile touched his lips.
“Up,” he said, his voice hoarse.He hauled Taichi to his feet. Taichi’s legs buckled immediately, but Yamato held him, an arm around his waist, half-dragging, half-carrying him across the great hall toward the wide porch doors.
The cold air was a shock. The late afternoon sun glittered on the lake, and a sharp breeze cut through the pines.Taichi shivered violently, naked and exposed on the wide porch. Yamato walked him to the railing—sturdy, weathered oak.
“Bend over,” Yamato instructed, his own trousers barely pulled up over his hips.
“Out here?” Taichi’s voice was wrecked.
“No one for miles.” Yamato’s palm was a firm pressure between his shoulder blades. “Do it.”
Taichi bent, his chest against the cold wood of the railing, his ass presented to the open air and to Yamato. He heard the alpha spit, felt the slick, hot press of his cockhead against his used, dripping entrance. Then Yamato was pushing in again, and Taichi cried out, the sound swallowed by the vastness of the landscape.
This was different. The cold air on his skin, the vista of the serene lake, the absolute vulnerability of being taken like this in the open. Yamato set a brutal pace from the start, one hand gripping Taichi’s hip hard enough to bruise, the other coming around to clamp over his mouth.
“Quiet,” Yamato breathed into his ear, his thrusts driving the railing into Taichi’s ribs.“Let the trees hear you. Not the water.”
Taichi’s screams were muffled by the large, calloused hand. Tears of overstimulation and overwhelming pleasure leaked from his eyes. Each drive of Yamato’s hips rocked his whole body, the knot already beginning its relentless swell. He was so full, so impossibly full, his belly tight and rounded under Yamato’s other hand.
“Gonna fill you up,” Yamato grunted, his rhythm faltering as the knot caught. “Gonna pump you so full it stays in this time. My come in your belly, where it belongs.”
The locking sensation, the final, deep push, the hot jets flooding him—Taichi shattered.His vision whited out. He convulsed against the railing, his scream utterly silenced by Yamato’s palm, his body seizing in a dry, wrenching climax that felt like it stripped his nerves bare.He went limp. Yamato held him up, his own forehead pressed between Taichi’s shoulder blades, both of them panting clouds into the cold air, locked together by the knot.
By evening, Taichi was broken.He lay on his back in the center of the large bed, legs splayed. He couldn’t close them.A deep, hot ache pulsed inside him with every heartbeat. His stomach was noticeably rounded, a soft, full curve under his navel. He tried to sit up and a weak groan escaped him.
Yamato stood by the bed, finally fully dressed in clean clothes, looking down at him.His expression was a mix of fierce satisfaction and something softer, awed.
“Look at you,” he said quietly.“Fuck you,” Taichi whispered, lacking any force. He felt a trickle of fluid seep from him and winced.
“Later,” Yamato promised, a ghost of a smile on his face. Then he bent, sliding his arms under Taichi’s back and knees, lifting him effortlessly.Taichi’s head lolled against his shoulder.
The bath in the adjoining room was already drawn, steam rising from the surface, scented with pine oil. Yamato lowered him into the hot water, and Taichi hissed, his oversensitive skin singing at the contact.He sank down, the water helping to support his wrecked body.
Yamato knelt beside the tub, a soft cloth in hand. He washed Taichi with a tenderness that was almost shocking after the day’s brutality. He cleaned the sweat from his neck, the dried tears from his cheeks, the mess from his belly and thighs. His touch was meticulous, reverent.But even here, submerged in soothing heat, Taichi’s body betrayed him. As Yamato’s cloth swept over his lower belly, a fresh pulse of slick clouded the water. Taichi flinched, a shamed sound catching in his throat. His hole, gaping and tender, clenched rhythmically around nothing, desperately seeking the fullness it had become accustomed to.
Yamato saw it.He watched the water ripple.He didn’t smirk. He didn’t gloat. He simply rested his damp hand on Taichi’s stomach, over the slight distension there, his thumb stroking the skin just above the waterline.
“Still?” he asked, his voice low.Taichi closed his eyes, too exhausted for pride. He gave one small, humiliated nod.The need was a physical ache, a hollow torment deeper than muscle or bone.
Yamato said nothing. He continued washing him, the silence heavy with the unspoken truth: the day was over, but the craving it had forged in Taichi was just beginning.