Chapter 8: Claimed by Both
The words hung in the air, a verdict and a vow. Taichi lay between them, his heartbeat a frantic drum against his ribs. He’d spoken his truth, and now the architecture of the world shifted.
Van was the first to move. His hand left Taichi’s shoulder, but the absence was just another form of command. “Up,” he said, his voice a low roll of thunder. “On your knees. Face the fire.”
Taichi scrambled to obey, his limbs clumsy. The fur of the rug was soft and prickly against his shins. He faced the roaring hearth, its heat licking his front while the cool air of the cabin touched his back. He could feel them behind him, a wall of silent, focused attention.
Yamato’s chuckle was a warm breath against the nape of his neck. “Look at him, Van. He’s trembling. Isn’t he pretty?”
“Clothes are a barrier,” Van stated, his tone practical, final. “Remove them.”
Hands found him then, not in unison but in a coordinated dismantling. Yamato’s fingers, clever and quick, worked the button of his jeans, the zipper a harsh rasp in the quiet. Van’s larger, slower hands lifted his shirt from behind, pulling it over his head, his arms brushing Taichi’s sides. The fabric was gone, discarded somewhere in the shadows. The cool air hit his skin, raising goosebumps. His cock, already hard, strained against his briefs.
Yamato hooked his thumbs in the waistband of jeans and underwear and pulled them down in one rough, efficient motion. Taichi lifted his hips to help, a flush of shame heating his face, but it was smothered by a sharper, hotter thrill. He was exposed. The firelight painted his lean back, the curve of his ass, the dark trail of hair leading down. His tail, that impossible, expressive appendage, twitched nervously, then stilled as if awaiting orders.
“Good,” Van murmured. A calloused palm smoothed down the length of his spine, possessive and assessing. “Now, down. Chest to the rug. Present yourself.”
Taichi lowered himself, the fur tickling his nipples, his cheek pressed to the warm pelt. He arched his back instinctively, offering himself. He heard the soft clink of a bottle, the slick sound of oil being poured. His breath hitched.
“Mine first,” Yamato said, his voice close, thick with intent. He wasn’t asking Van. He was informing him.
A slick, cool finger pressed against Taichi’s entrance, circling without entering. Taichi jerked, a small whimper escaping him.
“Shhh, puppy. Just getting you ready for us,” Yamato cooed, but there was no softness in the press of his digit as it breached him, sliding in to the knuckle. It was a sharp, stretching fullness. Taichi gasped, pushing back against it, craving more of the burn. Yamato worked him open with a ruthless efficiency, adding a second finger, scissoring them, crooking them until Taichi was panting, his hips rocking back shamelessly. “Fuck, he’s tight. And so eager for it.”
Van said nothing. Taichi heard the rustle of his own clothes, the heavy buckle of a belt. Then a warm, solid weight settled over his back—not Yamato. Van. His chest pressed against Taichi’s shoulders, his hips cradling Taichi’s ass. The thick, blunt head of Van’s cock, already slick, nudged against the same stretched, quivering hole Yamato’s fingers were still working.
“He’s ready,” Van stated, the words vibrating through Taichi’s body.
Yamato withdrew his fingers with a wet pop. The emptiness was a tragedy, brief and acute. Then Van pushed in.
It was not a slow, gentle breach. It was a claiming. Van sheathed himself in one relentless, deep stroke, splitting Taichi open on a thickness that felt impossible. Taichi screamed into the fur, his back bowing, his nails digging into the rug. It was too much. It was everything. The stretch was a blinding white fire, settling into a deep, brutal fullness that stole the air from his lungs.
Van held himself there, buried to the hilt, his body a furnace against Taichi’s back. He growled, a sound of pure animal satisfaction. “Mine.”
Before Taichi could even process the totality of the invasion, Yamato was in front of him. A hand fisted in his hair, yanking his head up. Yamato’s cock, sleek with oil, glistened in the firelight, bobbing before his face. Yamato’s blue eyes were dark, blown wide with lust.
“Open,” Yamato commanded, his voice rough. “You wanted both. You take both. Now.”
Tears blurred Taichi’s vision. He opened his mouth, and Yamato fed his length into it, not stopping until the head bumped the back of his throat. Taichi gagged, saliva pooling. Yamato’s scent, wild and sharp, filled his nose.
Van began to move.
He set a slow, devastating rhythm, pulling out almost entirely before driving back in with a force that shoved Taichi forward onto Yamato’s cock. Yamato met the thrust, fucking his mouth in time, his grip in Taichi’s hair keeping him impaled.
Taichi was a conduit. A vessel. Every deep, pounding drive from Van pushed a choked sound from him, which was swallowed by Yamato’s flesh in his throat. The sounds were obscene—the wet slap of Van’s hips against his ass, the slick gagging as Yamato used his mouth, the animalistic grunts from the alphas above him. The world narrowed to the brutal cadence of his own use. Pain and pleasure fused into a single, white-hot wire of sensation. He was nothing but a body being claimed, used, connected to both of them in the most primal way possible.
Van’s pace increased, his thrusts becoming harder, faster. His breaths were ragged growls against Taichi’s ear. “You feel that, puppy? That’s where you belong. Split open on your master’s cock.”
Yamato, fucking his face with shallow, brutal snaps of his hips, groaned in agreement. “Look at him. His pretty eyes are rolling back. He’s fucking made for this.”
Taichi couldn’t think. He could only feel. The overwhelming fullness in his ass, the stretch of his lips around Yamato’s shaft, the grinding pressure on his own trapped, leaking cock against the fur. A coil of heat, terrifying in its intensity, wound tighter and tighter in his gut. He was sobbing around Yamato, tears and saliva mixing on his chin.
Van’s hand slipped around his hip, calloused fingers wrapping around Taichi’s aching dick. Two rough strokes was all it took.
The orgasm tore through him like a lightning strike. It was a convulsive, mind-shattering rupture. His body locked, every muscle seizing as he came in hot, helpless stripes across the fur beneath him, his scream muffled by the cock stuffing his mouth. The intense clenching of his ass around Van’s length and his throat around Yamato’s seemed to trigger their own release.
Van slammed into him one last time, his roar raw and guttural as he pulsed deep inside, flooding Taichi with his seed. At the same instant, Yamato shoved his cock to the root and held, a broken shout leaving his lips as he came in hot, bitter spurts down Taichi’s throat.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of harsh breathing and the crackle of the fire. Taichi was utterly spent, boneless, filled and overflowing with them. Yamato slowly pulled his softening cock from Taichi’s bruised lips, trailing a strand of spit. Van remained lodged inside him, his weight a heavy, comforting anchor.
Eventually, Van withdrew. The sensation of emptiness and the immediate trickle of fluid down his thigh made Taichi whine weakly. Van collapsed beside him on the rug, his chest heaving. Yamato dropped down on his other side, throwing an arm over Taichi’s waist.
No one spoke. The fire warmed their slick skin. Taichi’s tail, which had been clamped tight during the ordeal, gave a feeble, exhausted twitch. The shame he expected didn’t come. In its place was a deep, humming emptiness—a clean, quiet space where the frantic need had been. He was claimed. Utterly. By both.
Van’s hand found his, lacing their fingers together on the fur. A simple, grounding touch.
Yamato nuzzled the back of his neck, his voice a sleepy murmur. “Told you you couldn’t choose, puppy.”
Van’s thumb stroked his knuckle. “Sleep,” he commanded, his own voice thick with sated exhaustion. “The pack waits tomorrow. But tonight, you are here. You are ours.”
Taichi closed his eyes. The smells of sex, sweat, and pine filled his lungs. Between the heat of the fire and the heat of the two bodies flanking him, he had never felt so warm, or so completely, terrifyingly, at home.