Chapter 20: Worship and Submission
The words hung between them, a contract signed in the dark. Kenny felt them vibrate in his own bones. I’m all yours.
For a second, he was paralyzed by the magnitude of it. Then something clicked into place, a quiet, determined focus settling over him. He moved.
He pushed at Buck’s shoulder, a firm, guiding pressure. Buck went with it, rolling onto his back without a word, his eyes never leaving Kenny’s face. The sheets rustled, cool against Kenny’s knees as he swung a leg over Buck’s hips, settling his weight atop him. He was slimmer, lighter, but the position gave him a thrilling authority. He captured Buck’s wrists, pulling them up and pressing them back into the pillow above his head. Buck’s arms resisted for a fraction of a second, just a faint flex of tendons, testing the hold. Then he yielded, his muscles going pliant. The surrender was more potent than any struggle.
Kenny looked down at him. In the slatted light from the window, Buck was a landscape of tension and anticipation. The defined lines of his torso, the rise and fall of his chest, the trail of blond hair leading south from his navel, all of it was offered up.
He didn’t start where Buck might expect. He leaned down, his nose skimming the damp skin of Buck’s flank, the scent of clean sweat and soap and something uniquely male filling his senses. He bypassed his chest, his mouth. He went lower, to the hollow of Buck’s left armpit.
It was intimate in a way that felt illicit. Buck stiffened, a surprised breath hissing through his teeth. Kenny ignored it. He pressed his face there, his tongue laying a broad, wet stripe over the sensitive skin. It was salty, musky, deeply personal. He laved at it, kittenish flicks giving way to a firm, circling pressure. Buck’s body jerked beneath him, a full-body twitch. A ragged, “Fuck, Kenny—” spilled out, half-protest, half-plea.
Kenny didn’t let up. He explored the territory with a devoted intensity, nipping gently at the very edges, making Buck gasp. His hips had begun a helpless, stuttering grind upward, seeking friction against Kenny’s thigh. The power of it went straight to Kenny’s head, dizzying. He was making this strong, confident man unravel with his mouth in the most unexpected place.
Only when Buck was panting, his wrists straining against Kenny’s loose hold, did Kenny move. He traveled up, a slow, wet trail along the hard curve of Buck’s pectoral muscle. He reached the first nipple, already a tight, dusky peak.
He didn’t just suck. He took it between his teeth, a careful, pointed pressure. Buck cried out, his back arching clean off the mattress.
“Jesus Christ!”
Kenny soothed it with his tongue, then bit down again, harder. He worked it relentlessly, pulling and licking and grazing until it was swollen, a bruised-looking rose against the tan skin. He could feel the corresponding throb in Buck’s cock, pressed hard against his own ass through their sweatpants. Buck was chanting now, a stream of broken, filthy praise. “Yeah, like that, just like that, fuck, your mouth, you fucking perfect—”
Kenny switched to the other side, giving it the same devastating attention. He was lost in the rhythm of it, in the taste of skin, the sounds Buck made, the sheer animal feedback of the body beneath him. He was painting a masterpiece of desperation, and Buck was the willing canvas.
He released the nipple with a wet pop and sat back up, straddling Buck’s waist. Both of Buck’s nipples glistened, overly sensitive and abused. Buck’s chest heaved. His eyes were glassy, his pupils blown wide in the low light. He looked wrecked already, and they’d barely begun.
He looked wrecked already, and they’d barely begun. The bulge in Buck’s gray sweatpants was a pronounced, desperate arch against Kenny’s weight. Kenny rocked back slightly, feeling the hard length of him, and Buck’s head tipped back into the pillow with a choked groan. “Please.”
“Please what?” Kenny asked, his voice low. He didn’t wait for an answer. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of Buck’s sweats and the briefs beneath, peeling them down in one rough, efficient motion. Buck’s cock sprang free, thick and flushed, lying hard against his stomach. The sight was a punch to Kenny’s gut. He swallowed, his own need a throbbing counter-rhythm.
He scrambled off the bed just long enough to yank his own shirt and sweatpants over his head, letting them fall to the wooden floor. The night air chilled his skin, raising goosebumps. Then he was back astride Buck, their naked bodies aligning. Skin met skin, a shocking, seamless heat.
Kenny wrapped his fingers around Buck’s cock. It was hot, almost feverish, and velvety-steel under his palm. A thick bead of moisture gleamed at the tip. He swiped his thumb over it, spreading the slickness. Buck jerked, his abdomen clenching. “Kenny. Fuck, just—”
“Shhh.” Kenny leaned down, his mouth descending onto Buck’s right nipple. He sucked it deep, his tongue working the hardened nub as his hand began a slow, tormenting stroke. Up, then down, a tight, twisting friction over the sensitive head. He set a lazy, maddening pace. Buck’s hips lifted, trying to thrust into the steady grip, but Kenny held him down with the weight of his body, controlling the rhythm completely.
He worked that nipple until Buck was shaking, his hands fisting in the sheets beside his head because Kenny hadn’t given him permission to move them. Kenny switched his mouth to the other, biting just shy of pain, lapping at the sting. His hand never stopped, a relentless, edging torture. Precum slicked his movements, making filthy, wet sounds in the quiet room.
“I can’t—I need to come. Let me come.” The words were ripped from Buck, ragged and broken.
Kenny released his nipple with a soft sound. He nuzzled lower, burying his face back into the damp, musky hollow of Buck’s armpit. He inhaled deeply, licking a long, slow stripe there as his hand tightened on Buck’s cock, stroking faster for just three devastating pulls.
Buck cried out, his whole body bowing. “Now, please, now, I’m right there, god, please—”
Kenny lifted his head. He looked down at Buck’s tortured expression, his own breath coming fast. “It’s too early,” he whispered, his voice husky but firm. He resumed his slow, infuriating strokes, his pace dropping back to that initial, lazy torment. “You said you were mine. We’re just getting started.”
A ragged sob escaped Buck’s throat. It wasn’t sadness; it was sheer, overwhelming sensation. Kenny claimed his mouth again in a deep, consuming kiss, swallowing his noises. He mapped Buck’s body with a devoted brutality, his mouth and teeth leaving a constellation of faint marks across his chest and shoulders, returning again and again to the hyper-sensitive nipples.
Time dissolved into a viscous stream of sensation. Kenny’s jaw ached. His wrist burned. He learned the exact cadence of Buck’s breathing, the warning tremor in his thighs, the broken, whispered curses that meant he was nearing the edge again. Kenny would bring him soaring to that precipice with a furious pace and clever twists of his wrist, only to abandon his cock entirely, pinning Buck’s hips to the mattress and devoting his mouth to a nipple instead, licking and biting until the crisis passed in a wave of shuddering, agonized relief.
“You’re a fucking devil,” Buck panted during one of these reprieves, his voice shot.
“You love it,” Kenny murmured against his sternum, tasting salt.
“Yeah. I do. It’s fucking terrifying.”
The confession hung between them, raw and more intimate than any physical act. Kenny answered by taking him back in hand, squeezing hard at the root, and Buck shouted, his heels digging into the mattress. The digital clock on the bedside table had advanced an hour and a half. Buck was a mess of sweat and tension, his body strung taut as a wire, trembling on a knife’s edge he hadn’t been allowed to fall from. He was begging again, nonsensical, beautiful pleas. Kenny watched his face, alight with a fierce, possessive wonder. This was his. All his.
All his.
The knowledge was a fire in Kenny’s veins, burning away the last shred of hesitation. Buck lay beneath him, a masterpiece of raw need, every muscle quivering with withheld release. The power wasn't just in the control; it was in the gift of it, in Buck's willing surrender. Kenny wanted to consume it, to fuse with it.
He sat up fully, breaking the contact of his hand on Buck’s tortured cock. Buck made a wounded, animal sound at the loss.
"Look at me," Kenny said, his voice not a command but a low, magnetic pull.
Buck’s blue eyes, hazy with desperation, focused on him with immense effort. Kenny held his gaze as he reached for the bottle on the nightstand, the click of the cap loud in the charged silence. He poured slick onto his fingers, warming it, never looking away. He prepared himself with quick, practiced movements, a slight pinch giving way to familiar fullness. Buck watched, his throat working, his own cock jerking against his stomach with each beat of his heart.
"Now," Kenny whispered, more to himself than to Buck.
He shifted his weight up on his knees. He took Buck’s cock in his hand again, guiding the blunt, wet head to his entrance. The pressure was immense, a sweet, burning stretch. Kenny lowered himself, a slow, inexorable sink, his body opening, yielding, swallowing Buck inch by devastating inch.
"Fuck," Buck gasped, his hands flying up to grip Kenny’s thighs, his fingers digging in. His head pressed back into the pillow, cords standing out in his neck. "Oh, god, Kenny…so tight. So fucking tight."
Kenny seated himself fully, sheathing Buck to the root. The feeling was obliterating. Full, stretched, connected in the most profound and filthy way. He let out a shuddering breath, letting his body adjust, letting the sheer presence of Buck inside him recalibrate his world. He looked down, saw where they were joined, and a fresh wave of possessive heat flooded him.
He began to move.
It wasn't frantic. It was a deep, rolling grind of his hips, a slow climb and fall that dragged Buck’s cock along every nerve inside him. He braced his hands on Buck’s chest, his fingers splaying over the hard planes. He found Buck’s nipples, those bruised, over-sensitive peaks, and rubbed his thumbs over them in rough, circular motions.
Buck shouted, his hips buckling up involuntarily. "Right there! Don't stop that, please!"
Kenny intensified the rhythm, rising higher and dropping down harder, each descent a perfect, punishing fit. The slap of skin filled the room, a wet, rhythmic counterpoint to their ragged breaths. He focused on Buck’s nipples, pinching and tugging, twisting them until Buck was sobbing, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, his big body utterly possessed by sensation.
"You feel so good inside me," Kenny choked out, the words raw and honest. "You fill me up so perfect, Buck."
"Kenny…I can't…I’m gonna—"
"Not yet," Kenny commanded, riding him harder, using his body to milk Buck right to the edge and hold him there. He leaned forward, changing the angle, and Buck cried out as his cock hit a deeper spot. Kenny’s own neglected erection slid against Buck’s sweat-slicked abdomen.
Then Buck’s hand moved. It left Kenny’s thigh, streaked up his torso, and wrapped around Kenny’s cock. The calloused, perfect grip was electric.
"Oh, fuck, yes," Kenny moaned, his rhythm faltering for a second.
Buck jerked him off in time with Kenny’s thrusts, his fist a tight, slick tunnel. It was too much. Sensory feedback looped between them—Buck’s thrusts, Buck’s hand, Buck’s tortured nipples under Kenny’s thumbs. The world dissolved into a white-hot point of shared friction.
Kenny’s control shattered. "I'm gonna come," he warned, his voice breaking.
"Me too. Come with me. Now."
Buck’s fist sped up, his thumb swiping over the leaking tip of Kenny’s cock on every upstroke. His own thrusts became ragged, shallow pistoning. Kenny rode him through it, his body clenching tightly around Buck’s length. The orgasm ripped through Kenny first, a silent, blinding explosion that locked his throat and arched his spine. Hot streaks painted Buck’s stomach and chest.
The feeling of Kenny pulsing around him tore Buck’s release from him. He roared, a raw, guttural sound, as he emptied himself deep inside Kenny, his hips grinding up, burying himself to the hilt through wave after shuddering wave.
Kenny collapsed forward, his strength gone. He landed on Buck’s heaving chest, their sweat mingling, the smell of sex and salt thick in the air. Buck’s arms, trembling, came up around him, holding him tight. They stayed like that for a long time, listening to the frantic beat of their hearts slow into a sluggish, synchronized rhythm.
Buck’s hand came up, clumsy and tender, to stroke Kenny’s damp hair. No words came. None were needed. The room cooled around their overheated skin. Eventually, with a soft, mutual sigh, Buck shifted them, pulling the twisted duvet over their spent bodies. Kenny nuzzled into the hollow of Buck’s shoulder, his leg thrown over Buck’s thighs. Exhaustion, heavy and sweet, pulled them down. In the last moments before sleep, Buck’s lips pressed against Kenny’s forehead, a silent seal. Then the dark embraced them both.