Chapter 10: Window Pounding
The silence in the corridor was a sudden, heavy blanket after the sharp music of the dining room. The bamboo walls seemed to absorb sound, leaving only the whisper of their own footsteps on the polished wood and the distant rush of water from the wash area. Ben’s heart was still beating a frantic rhythm against his ribs, a mix of social adrenaline and the searing memory of David’s finger tracing his palm.
David didn’t head for the restrooms. He turned instead toward a darker, narrower corridor marked with a simple wooden plaque depicting a wave. The air grew warmer, more humid. The scent of citrus cleaner gave way to the mineral smell of wet stone and clean, steaming water. They passed an empty washing station, stools and wooden buckets arranged in a row.
At the end of the corridor was a sliding door, slightly ajar. David pushed it open. It was a small, traditional soaking room, lined with smooth river stones. A deep, square wooden ofuro bath steamed in the center, water still and clear. A single dim lantern cast wavering light on the surfaces. It was clearly meant for private party reservation, currently unoccupied.
David slid the door shut behind them. The sounds of the restaurant vanished, replaced by the gentle drip-drip from a bamboo spout into the bath.
He turned to Ben, his back to the door, blocking the exit. His expression was unreadable in the low light. “You handled that well.”
Ben let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping. “I feel like I’ve been through a spin cycle. Alyssa and your daughter… it’s like watching two hawks fight over a mouse. And I’m the mouse.”
“You’re not the mouse,” David said, his voice low. “You’re the prize terrain. They’re establishing air superiority.” He took a step closer. The humid air clung to Ben’s skin. “You liked it, a little. The tension.”
“No,” Ben said automatically, then hesitated. “Maybe. The clarity of it. Alyssa fighting for me. Mia fighting… against you, through me. It was exhausting, but it wasn’t passive.”
David closed the remaining distance. He didn’t kiss him. He brought his hands up, his thumbs pressing gently beneath Ben’s jaw, tilting his face up. “You held your ground. You didn’t fold. That matters.”
The praise, simple and direct, did something to Ben’s insides. It unraveled a knot of anxiety he hadn’t fully acknowledged. He leaned into the touch, his eyes closing for a second.
“I wanted to touch you the entire time,” David murmured. “Every time she made one of her precise, eviscerating points, I wanted to put my hand on your neck and remind her you were mine to discuss. Not hers.”
The word ‘mine’ hung in the steamy air. It wasn’t a claim of ownership, but of allegiance. A declaration of a side already chosen. Ben’s breath hitched.
David’s hands slid down, over the new, dark green sweater, tracing the shape of Ben’s torso underneath. He found the hem and pulled it up. “Lift your arms.”
Ben obeyed, the sound of the soft wool brushing over his head suddenly loud. David folded the sweater and placed it neatly on a dry bench. He did the same with his own linen shirt, the fabric whispering against his skin. His chest was a defined landscape in the lantern light, the muscles mature, carved by decades of discipline, etched with the fine lines of his age. Ben reached out, his fingers skating over the dense pectorals, the rough trail of silver hair leading down.
David’s own hands worked open Ben’s belt, then the button and zipper of his trousers. He pushed them and his briefs down in one firm motion. Ben stepped out, kicking his shoes off, feeling the cool, smooth stones under his bare feet. The warm, damp air touched every part of him.
David looked at him, a long, slow appraisal that made Ben’s skin prickle with heat that had nothing to do with the room. “On your knees,” David said, his voice quiet but absolute.
The stones were hard and unforgiving against his kneecaps. The position was one of submission, but Ben felt a surge of power in it, in the choice to yield. David stood before him, undoing his own pants, freeing his cock. It was already fully hard, thick and heavy, the head flushed dark. In the low light, the veins stood out.
“Look at it,” David said.
Ben did. He saw the strength of it, the reality of the man. This was no fantasy. This was the architect, the father, the formidable wall. And it was achingly erect for him.
“Now taste it.”
Ben leaned forward, his heart hammering. He didn’t hesitate. He opened his mouth and took the head in, running his tongue over the slit, tasting the pre-cum, salty and clean. A low groan rumbled from David’s chest. Ben took more, his lips stretching, his jaw starting to ache as he pushed down, trying to take the full length. He couldn’t. It was too much. He pulled back, gasping, a string of saliva connecting his lips to the glistening shaft.
“Good,” David breathed, his hands coming to cradle Ben’s head. “Now again. Don’t try to swallow it all. Just suck it, like you’re starving for it.”
Ben dove back in, his insecurity burned away by raw need. He sucked greedily, one hand wrapping around the base, feeling the powerful throb of David’s pulse there. He used his tongue, his lips, reveling in the weight on his tongue, the feel of the silken skin stretched tight over iron-hard flesh. He listened to the ragged sounds above him—the hitched breaths, the guttural “fuck” whispered into the steamy air.
David’s fingers tightened in his hair, not pulling, just holding. “You’re so fucking pretty like this. On your knees for me. Taking my cock so well.”
The filthy praise sent a jolt straight to Ben’s own cock, which was aching and leaking against his stomach. He redoubled his efforts, slurping, bobbing his head, wanting to be good, wanting to be perfect.
After a few minutes, David gently pulled him off. His cock popped free, slick and shining. “Up. Turn around. Bend over the bench.”
Ben scrambled to his feet, his legs wobbly. He turned, placing his hands on the smooth wood of the bench where their clothes lay. He bent at the waist, presenting himself. The air felt cooler on his exposed skin. He heard David move behind him, then the sound of a cap opening. The sharp, clean scent of lubricant cut through the mineral steam.
A slick finger pressed against his hole, circling slowly. Ben pushed back against it, a needy sound escaping his throat.
“Tell me what you want,” David said, his voice rough.
“You,” Ben gasped. “Inside me. Now.”
The finger pushed in, a single, deep intrusion. Ben shuddered at the stretch. It was quickly followed by a second, scissoring, stretching him further. David knew his body now, knew how to open him up efficiently, relentlessly. A third finger joined, and Ben cried out, his knuckles white on the bench.
“You’re so tight, Ben. Like a fucking vise. But you can take it. You can take me.”
The fingers withdrew, leaving him empty and clenching at nothing. Then he felt the blunt, broad head of David’s cock pressing against him. He braced himself.
David pushed in.
It was an inexorable invasion, a slow, burning stretch that stole the air from Ben’s lungs. He was being filled, speared open. It was too much. It was everything. He groaned, a deep, ragged sound that echoed off the wet stones.
“Breathe,” David commanded, his hands gripping Ben’s hips, his own breath hot on Ben’s back. “Just breathe into it.”
Ben exhaled shakily, forced his muscles to relax, and felt David slide deeper, until their bodies met, David’s pelvis pressed flush against his ass. The feeling of being so completely impaled, so utterly full, was overwhelming. He felt possessed.
David didn’t move for a long moment, letting them both feel the fullness, the connection. Then he drew back, almost all the way out, and slammed back in.
The impact was brutal, perfect. Ben saw stars.
“Yeah,” David grunted. “That’s it. That’s your spot.”
He set a relentless pace, each thrust a controlled, powerful drive that knocked the breath from Ben’s body. The sound of skin slapping against skin, wet and loud, filled the small room, mixing with the drip of water. David’s grip on his hips was iron, surely leaving marks. Every drive hit Ben’s prostate, sending electric shocks of pleasure radiating through his core to the tip of his weeping cock.
“You feel that?” David growled, leaning over him, his chest pressed to Ben’s sweaty back. His mouth was next to Ben’s ear. “You feel how deep I am? This is where you belong. Taking my cock like you were made for it.”
Ben could only nod, choking on moans. The pain had dissolved into a white-hot pleasurable burn. He was a instrument being played with masterful, brutal precision. He pushed back, meeting each thrust, craving the collision.
“Who do you belong to?” David demanded, his thrusts becoming sharper, faster.
“You!” Ben cried out, the word torn from him.
“Say it again.”
“You! Fuck, David, you!”
David’s right hand snaked around his hip, his fingers wrapping around Ben’s cock. It was slick with pre-cum. He jerked it in time with his thrusts, his grip tight and perfect.
The double stimulation was too much. Ben’s climax gathered like a storm in his base, urgent and undeniable. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna come,” he whimpered.
“Come on my cock,” David ordered, his own rhythm starting to fracture, his thrusts becoming harder, more erratic. “Let it go. Come for me.”
The orgasm erupted through Ben, blinding and violent. He shouted, his body seizing, convulsing around David’s shaft as his own cock pulsed in David’s fist, stripes of cum shooting to land on the stones beneath them, on the bench, on their clothes.
The violent clenching of Ben’s body tipped David over the edge. With a raw, guttural shout that was nothing like his usual measured voice, he drove in one last, deep time and held, his hips grinding against Ben’s ass as he emptied himself inside, his hot release filling the condom he’d worn, a final claim.
For a minute, the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the relentless drip of water. David slumped over him, his weight a comforting anchor. Ben felt spent, hollowed out, buzzing with a profound, tingling peace.
Slowly, David pulled out. He disposed of the condom, then fetched a small towel from a stack beside the bath. He wiped Ben down with a surprising tenderness, then cleaned himself.
They didn’t speak. They just dressed in the silence, the ghost of their violence hanging in the steam. Ben’s legs felt like water, his body singing with a deep, satisfying ache.
David helped him with his sweater, smoothing it over his shoulders. He looked into Ben’s eyes, his own gaze soft, post-coital, but intensely focused.
“When I am inside you,” David said quietly, tucking a strand of Ben’s hair behind his ear, “all the noise stops. The arguments, the history, the future. There is just that moment. That truth.”
He kissed Ben then, not with hunger, but with a devastating finality.
“Let’s go back,” David said. “See who won the war.”
As they slid the door open and stepped back into the cooler corridor, the sounds of the restaurant gradually returning, Ben knew something had settled. He was different. He wasn’t the terrain anymore. He was the garrison. And the flag was planted deep within him.
They walked back toward the dining room, their footsteps in sync. Ben could still feel the ghost of David inside him, a lingering, possessive ache. He wondered if it showed on his face. He hoped it did.