Chapter 16: Tender Wreckage
The world was a gentle sway, a slow rocking that felt like the deck of a ship in calm waters. Sam kept his face pressed into the solid heat of Damon’s neck, breathing in the mingled scents of sweat, cheap cologne, and sex. His own smell was on the man carrying him. The thought should have revolted him. It just made him cling tighter.
Damon didn’t speak. His footsteps were sure and quiet on the concrete, moving away from the lingering eye of the camera, its red light now a dim, watching star in the dark. He shouldered through a door Sam had never seen, into a hallway that was all shadow and closed doors.
The bathroom was unexpectedly normal. Subway tile, a deep standalone tub, a glass-walled shower big enough for three. It was clean, almost sterile, a stark contrast to the decadent filth of the studio. Damon tried to set him down on the closed toilet lid.
Sam whimpered, a high, thin sound, and his legs locked around Damon’s waist. His fingers dug into the older man’s shoulders, blunt nails pressing into ink and muscle. “No,” he mumbled, the word wet and broken against Damon’s skin.
“Okay, baby, okay,” Damon murmured, his voice a low rumble in his chest that Sam could feel. He adjusted his grip, one arm strong under Sam’s thighs, the other cradling his back. “We’ll do it right here.”
He sank down onto the tile floor himself, his back against the cool bath, and arranged Sam in his lap. The kid was a mess of trembling limbs and sticky heat, curled in so tight he was practically fetal. Damon reached over and started the water in the tub, the rush of it loud in the quiet room.
“You did so good for me,” Damon said, his lips moving against Sam’s temple. He kissed the damp hair there. “My perfect little thing. Took everything Daddy gave you.”
Sam shook his head, a weak denial, but he nuzzled deeper into Damon’s neck. A shiver ran through him, and a fresh, silent tear traced a path through the drying sweat on his cheek. He felt raw, opened up and scraped hollow, and the only solid thing in the universe was the man holding him.
The tub filled with a cloud of steam. Damon tested the temperature with his fingers before carefully shifting them both. He lowered Sam into the warm water, then climbed in behind him, pulling the kid back against his chest. Sam went boneless, his head lolling back onto Damon’s shoulder.
For a long time, there was only the sound of water and slow breathing. Damon took a soft cloth and began washing him with a gentleness that felt alien after what had come before. He smoothed it over Sam’s chest, his stomach, the shaking muscles of his thighs.
“So sexy today,” Damon whispered, his mouth close to Sam’s ear. “All those people watching my baby be such a slut for me. Made Daddy so happy.”
A ragged little gasp hitched in Sam’s throat. He turned his face into the column of Damon’s neck, hiding. “S’embarrassing,” he whined, the words slurred with exhaustion.
“I know it is, baby,” Damon said, his voice a low vibration against Sam’s skin. He pressed another kiss to his temple. “That’s what made it so perfect. You were so brave.” He traced the shell of Sam’s ear with his thumb. “My favorite part was when chat figured out you’d been plugged all day. They lost their minds.”
He felt Sam tense, then slowly relax again as the warm water and the steady cadence of his voice worked their magic.
“And when you came, just from my cock in your ass?” Damon continued, a note of genuine awe in his tone. “Christ, Sam. I’ve never seen anything like that. Felt you clenching around me, totally untouched. The chat absolutely exploded.” He squeezed him gently. “And you asked me to kiss you. Right in the middle of it. That was… fucking beautiful.”
Sam made a small, incoherent sound. It wasn’t quite a word, but it wasn’t a denial either.
“Next time,” Damon murmured, nuzzling his hair, “I want to see how many times I can make you do that. See how wrecked I can get you. Just for me.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, the steam rising around them. Sam’s breathing evened out, the sharp hitches of tears subsiding into occasional sniffs. He felt heavy and liquid, all his fight and fear dissolved in the heat.
“Tell me about your day,” Damon prompted softly, his hands moving in slow circles on Sam’s stomach. “Before you got here. Walking around campus all filled up for me.”
Sam’s eyelids fluttered. A faint, confused smile touched his lips. “It was… weird,” he whispered. “I could feel it the whole time. In Econ. Just… there. A secret.” His voice gained a dreamy, far-away quality. “I kept checking my phone under the desk. Looking at the pictures you sent. Your… you. Knowing what was gonna happen later. It made my skin feel tight.”
Damon hummed in approval, his hands drifting lower, possessive on Sam’s hips.
“Felt like everyone could see it,” Sam mumbled, his words beginning to blur together as sleep pulled at him. “Like I had a sign or something. Professor Henderson… he kept looking at me during his office hours. When I asked about the midterm. His eyes were all… weird. He said I seemed ‘distracted.’” Sam shivered slightly, pressing back against Damon’s chest for anchor. “I think… I think my professor watches you. He was weird to me today.”
Damon’s hands stilled for a fraction of a second. Then they resumed their soothing motion, even softer than before. “Yeah?” he said, his voice carefully neutral, a vault door clicking shut in his mind. “Don’t you worry about that, sweet thing. That’s Daddy’s business. You just be my good boy.”
He held Sam until the water began to cool, until the kid’s sniffs had fully stopped and his body was pliant with approaching sleep. Damon lifted him out, wrapping him in a thick, clean towel and carrying him to the large, unmade bed in the adjoining room.
He laid Sam down on the cool sheets and peeled the towel away. Sam whimpered, curling onto his side, eyes closed.
“Shhh, just a second, baby,” Damon cooed, his voice dropping to a dark, tender rumble. He nudged Sam’s thighs apart. “Let Daddy look at your pussy. See what we did.”
Sam tensed, a weak protest forming on his lips. Damon leaned in, his breath hot. He didn’t ask. His tongue, broad and flat, licked a slow, thorough stripe from Sam’s perineum up through his swollen, used hole.
Sam cried out, a jolted, broken sound. “Daddy, don’t—“
Sam's plea dissolved into a shuddering intake of breath as Damon’s mouth sealed over him. The touch was obscenely intimate, a wet, probing violation that sent a brutal spark of sensation straight up his spine. His hips twitched, a weak thrust against the sheets, as a soft, fractured noise escaped his throat.
Damon’s large hands spread him wider, holding him open for this relentless, tender inspection. His tongue worked with a focused rhythm, laving and soothing the aching muscle he’d spent the last hour brutally stretching. It was a claiming, a rewrite of the raw, violated feeling into something owned, something tended.
“So messy,” Damon muttered, his voice a thick vibration against Sam’s skin. He pulled back just enough to speak, his breath hot. “You’re all ruined inside, baby. Feels like mine.”
Sam could only press his face into the pillow, his fingers twisting in the cotton. A confusing, sluggish heat was pooling in his gut again, a traitorous response to the careful, humiliating attention. His body, strung out and oversensitive, was betraying every last shred of dignity he thought he had left.
The wet, relentless heat of Damon’s mouth was both a violation and a relief, a paradox that unspooled Sam’s nerves one by one. He pushed his face deeper into the pillow, a muffled groan escaping him, but his hips made a shallow, involuntary arc off the mattress, seeking more pressure. He felt split open in every possible way, and the ache was somehow a grounding point in the spinning room.
But the distance was wrong. Damon’s broad shoulders were braced between his thighs, his focus entirely on the act, and it felt clinical even in its intimacy. A sudden, sharp loneliness pierced the haze. It wasn’t the rimming itself Sam wanted to stop. He needed the weight of the man on top of him again, the crushing proximity, the feeling of being surrounded and smothered.
“D-Daddy,” Sam whined, the word thin and desperate. He reached back blindly, fingers scrabbling at the sheet, then finding the solid muscle of Damon’s arm. He tugged weakly. “C’mere. Please.”
Damon paused, lifting his head. He looked at Sam’s flushed back, the tremble in the kid’s shoulders, the way his hand was fisting in the air, begging for contact. A slow, fond smile spread across his face. “What’s this?” he murmured, his voice roughened. He crawled up Sam’s body, his own damp skin sliding against the kid’s, and settled his weight along Sam’s side. He propped himself on an elbow, looking down at Sam’s tear-streaked, embarrassed face. “Hmm? You want a kiss again, huh? My greedy boy.”
Sam nodded, a frantic little motion. He surged up, capturing Damon’s mouth with his own, clumsy and hungry. It tasted of salt and himself, a shocking flavor that should have been a turn-off. It just made him cling harder, one hand tangling in Damon’s hair to keep him there. His other hand drifted down, over Damon’s stomach, seeking the heavy heat he’d come to associate with being filled, with that unbearable closeness.
His fingers found only soft, spent flesh. Sam broke the kiss, panting, and looked down with a confusion that bordered on dismay.
Damon followed his gaze and let out a low, genuine laugh. It was a warm, rumbling sound that vibrated through Sam’s chest. “Oh, baby. No. That ship has sailed for tonight.” He gave his own cock a rueful shake. “Might be one of the side effects of breaking in pretty, tight college boys. My dick’s gonna need an intermission. A nap. Possibly a prescription.”
Sam’s face fell, a look of such pure, disappointed need that Damon’s laugh softened into a chuckle. He brushed Sam’s sweaty hair back from his forehead. “What, you want more already? Jesus. To keep you satisfied, I’m gonna need to invest in some industrial-strength Viagra.”
“S’not that,” Sam mumbled, though it absolutely was. He hid his face against Damon’s shoulder, his voice small. “Just… feels weird now. Empty. ‘S awkward.”
“Awkward to be empty, huh?” Damon repeated, his tone laced with a dark, playful understanding. He kissed Sam’s temple, then his cheekbone, each press of his lips a soft punctuation. “You need something in your hole, don’t you? Can’t have my baby feeling loose and wrong. Got to keep you feeling full.”
He reached over to the nightstand, the drawer sliding open with a smooth sound. When his hand reappeared, he was holding a small, smooth silicone plug, significantly smaller and more tapered than the one Sam had worn all day. He held it up, the dark material glinting in the low light.
He held it up, the dark material glinting in the low light.
“This one’s just for sleeping,” Damon said, his voice a low rumble. He coated it generously with lube from the bottle on the nightstand, the sound slick and deliberate in the quiet room. “Keep you feeling right. Keep my cum tucked up inside you where it belongs.”
Sam watched, his breath catching. The absurdity of the statement warred with a deep, physical yearning. The emptiness did feel wrong, a gaping, open ache that made him feel exposed and unsettled.
Damon’s thumb pressed against him, not entering, just applying a firm, knowing pressure. Sam’s body yielded instantly, a soft, shameful gasp escaping his lips. The muscle was loose and pliant, utterly defeated. “Look at that,” Damon murmured, almost to himself. “Opens up like you’re just waiting for it. Like a good little hole knows its job.”
He teased the tapered tip against Sam’s entrance, circling, applying just enough pressure to make Sam’s thighs tremble. He pushed in maybe half an inch, then pulled it completely out, watching the fluttering reaction. “Miss it already, don’t you?” he whispered.
Sam nodded, a jerky movement against the pillow. He was past lying. His hips pushed back in a silent, desperate plea.
“I wanted to lick you clean,” Damon confessed, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial growl as he pushed the plug in a little deeper this time, then withdrew again. “Taste all of it. My spit, my cum, your sweat. All mixed up in you.” He finally pressed the plug home with a slow, inexorable push, seating it fully. Sam’s back arched, a sharp breath hissing through his teeth at the familiar, stretching fullness. “But keeping it inside is good too,” Damon finished, giving the base a soft pat. “Let you marinate.”
The vulgarity, the sheer possession of it, crashed over Sam. His face burned. “Damon!” he cried out, the name a strangled mixture of protest and overwhelming exposure.
Damon leaned over him, a smirk playing on his lips. His eyes were dark pools of amused affection. “Oh, I’m not Daddy anymore?” he asked, his tone light, teasing. He didn’t wait for an answer. He caught Sam’s mouth in a deep, slow kiss, swallowing any other objection.
When he broke away, Sam was breathless. “I’ll fuck you proper in the morning,” Damon promised, his lips brushing Sam’s as he spoke. “Slow. Make you feel every inch. You’ll be begging for it by sunrise.”
Sam’s hand flailed out, finding a pillow. He swung it with weak, exhausted force, smacking Damon solidly on the shoulder. “Jerk,” he mumbled, but there was no heat in it.
Damon just chuckled, a warm, rich sound. Sam immediately dropped the pillow and burrowed into him, hiding his scorching face in the man’s broad chest. Damon’s arm came around him, solid and sure. His other hand came up and began carding through Sam’s hair, his fingers scratching gently at his scalp.
The rhythm was hypnotic. Sam’s breathing began to slow, syncing with the rise and fall of Damon’s chest. The plug was a constant, faint presence, a claiming that felt less like an invasion and more like an anchor. The hum of the studio’s climate control faded into white noise.
Damon kept playing with his hair, his touches growing slower, more absent. His own breathing deepened. The last thing Sam felt before sleep took him was the steady, strong beat of a heart under his ear, and the faint, possessive pressure keeping him filled.