Chapter 5: Balcony Claiming
The silence after Dakota’s sleep-mumbled “I love you” was not empty. It was a solid, suffocating entity that filled the suite, pressing down on Aaron’s lungs as he lay trapped beneath Zack’s arm. He waited, suspended in the aftermath, for the world to crack open. But Dakota’s breathing just deepened again, settling into the soft rhythm of innocent sleep. The only sounds were the distant, rhythmic shush of the ocean and the frantic drum of his own heart against his ribs.
Zack’s arm was a lead weight. Aaron didn’t dare move. He stared at the back of Dakota’s head, at the familiar curl of his blonde hair against the white pillow, and felt the hot, wet evidence of his betrayal seep slowly onto the sheets beneath him. It felt like a brand, a permanent stain on the marriage bed.
Minutes stretched into an hour. The moon tracked across the sky, its light shifting across the floor. Eventually, Zack’s breathing evened out into the shallow cadence of sleep. His grip loosened. Aaron waited longer, until he was certain, then he began the agonizingly slow process of extraction. He peeled Zack’s arm away, millimeter by millimeter, holding his breath. Zack grunted, turned onto his back, but didn’t wake.
Aaron slithered from the bed, his body aching, feeling used and hollow. He padded silently to the bathroom, closing the door before flicking on the blinding light. His reflection in the mirror was a stranger’s—pale, eyes shadowed and wide with a kind of shell-shocked horror. He looked down at himself. The smear on his inner thigh was a grotesque confession. He cleaned himself with a cold, methodical fury, scrubbing until his skin was raw, trying to erase the feel of Zack, the scent, the violation. It was useless. The violation was inside.
He didn’t return to the bed. He took a blanket from the closet and curled into a tight ball on the balcony’s wrought-iron love seat. The air was cold and sharp with salt, scouring his lungs. He watched the black water, listening to the waves batter the cliffs below, and waited for dawn.
It came not with a gentle light, but with a ominous, slate-colored gloom. The endless blue had vanished, swallowed by a rolling bank of purple-gray clouds that churned inland. A storm. The wind picked up, whipping the sea into whitecaps and carrying a damp, electric chill. Inside, Dakota slept on, and Zack, Aaron saw through the glass door, was a motionless lump under the covers.
Aaron must have dozed, because the sound of the sliding door jerked him awake. Zack stepped out, shirtless, wearing only his jeans. The wind mussed his red hair. He looked at Aaron cocooned in the blanket, and a smirk, faint and cruel, touched his lips. He didn’t speak. He just leaned against the railing, lighting a cigarette, and stared out at the brewing tempest.
“He’s in the shower,” Zack said finally, his voice rough with sleep. He took a deep drag. “Talking about hiking. Doesn’t know the sky’s about to fall.”
Aaron said nothing. He just watched the clouds devour the horizon.
“You look like shit,” Zack observed, blowing smoke into the wind.
“What do you want from me?” The question came out a broken whisper.
Zack turned, his dark eyes gleaming. “Last night wasn’t enough?”
The bathroom door inside opened, steam billowing out. Dakota emerged, pink and refreshed, a towel around his waist. “Morning! You two are up early. Oh, man, looks nasty out there. So much for the hike.” He didn’t wait for an answer, disappearing back into the bedroom, humming.
Zack dropped his cigarette on the balcony floor, grinding it with his heel. He moved fast. In two strides he was on Aaron, one hand clamping over his mouth, the other grabbing a fistful of blanket and shirt, hauling him upright. He spun Aaron around, forcing him against the cold, wrought-iron railing. The metal dug into his hips.
“He’s getting dressed,” Zack hissed in his ear, his body a solid, unyielding wall behind him. “He’ll be out in sixty seconds. You gonna scream?”
Aaron shook his head, a frantic little motion. The wind screamed for him, whipping around the tower.
Zack’s hand yanked at Aaron’s sleep pants, dragging them down. The cold air assaulted his bare skin. Zack’s own jeans were already open, his cock hard and pressing against Aaron’s cleft. He was still rough from the night before, sore and sensitive, and he tried to twist away, a silent plea choked behind Zack’s palm.
“Shut up,” Zack muttered. He spat into his hand, slicking himself, not enough, never enough. He positioned the head, and with a brutal, uncompromising shove, he pushed inside.
A silent, agonized scream ripped through Aaron. His eyes watered, blurring the violent sea below. The railing groaned under their combined weight, a rhythmic, metallic complaint that matched Zack’s thrusts. It was a harsh, dry, punishing invasion. Each drive forward scraped him raw, a scalding friction that bordered on pain. Zack set a ruthless, driving pace, his hips hammering against Aaron’s ass, the sound of skin on skin lost in the wind’s howl.
“He’s right there,” Zack grunted, his breath hot and ragged against Aaron’s neck. “Putting on his fucking khakis. Thinking about brunch.” He punctuated each word with a deep, jarring thrust. “And I’m here, fucking his husband on the balcony.”
Tears of pain and shame streaked down Aaron’s face. He bit down on the fleshy part of his own forearm to keep from crying out. The taste of salt and skin filled his mouth. Zack’s hands gripped his hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, steering him, using him.
“This is what you wanted,” Zack snarled, his rhythm becoming erratic, desperate. “All that safe, boring life. You wanted to be ruined. You wanted to be my dirty little secret.” He fucked into him with a final, violent surge, his body locking, a guttural curse ripped from his throat as he came, pulsing deep inside the clenching, unwilling heat.
He held there, shuddering, as Aaron felt the hot spill. Then, as quickly as it started, it was over. Zack pulled out, leaving Aaron empty and aching, slumped against the railing. Zack tucked himself away, zipped his jeans.
The sliding door opened behind them.
“Guys, it’s getting wild out—” Dakota’s voice cut off.
Aaron froze, his pants around his ankles, the wind chilling the wetness on his thighs. He couldn’t turn around.
“What’s going on?” Dakota asked, his voice laced with confusion.
Zack didn’t miss a beat. He leaned casually against the railing next to Aaron, blocking Dakota’s view. “Aaron wasn’t feeling good. Stomach bug. He was puking over the rail. I was just holding his forehead, man. It’s brutal.”
Aaron, playing his part in this horrific pantomime, dry-heaved once, convincingly. He spit into the abyss below.
“Oh, shit,” Dakota said, his tone shifting to concern. He started forward. “Babe, why didn’t you wake me? Come inside, you’ll catch your death.”
“I’ve got him,” Zack said, his voice smooth. He pulled Aaron’s pants up with a startling, practiced gentleness. “He’s okay now. Just needed some air. Right, Aaron?”
Aaron nodded, still facing the sea. He couldn’t look at Dakota. He knew his eyes would give everything away.
“Let’s get you to bed,” Dakota said, his hand on Aaron’s back now, guiding him inside, away from Zack. The warmth of his touch was a torture. “Forget brunch. We’ll order room service. Maybe some soup.”
As Dakota led him to the ruined bed, Aaron glanced back. Zack was still on the balcony, lighting another cigarette, his expression unreadable as he stared into the storm. The railing where they’d just been joined creaked in the wind.
Dakota tucked him in, fussing over pillows and blanket layers. He brought water, his brow furrowed with sincere worry. “I feel awful,” he murmured, smoothing Aaron’s hair. “This trip… it’s not going like I planned.”
Aaron looked up at his husband’s kind, oblivious face, then over his shoulder to the balcony where Zack flicked his ash into the raging wind. The two worlds—the one of care and stability, and the one of raw, destructive hunger—collided in his gut, a sickness no soup could cure.
“No,” Aaron whispered, his voice hoarse from suppressed screams. “It’s not.”
Outside, the first fat drops of rain began to strike the glass, like tiny, frantic fingers tapping to be let in.
The storm broke against the windows in a sudden, furious onslaught, drowning Dakota’s concerned chatter. Aaron lay perfectly still in the bed, the sheets still smelling of sex and shame, while Dakota placed a cool hand on his forehead.
“You’re clammy,” Dakota said, worry etching his face. “Must be a twenty-four-hour thing. I saw a pharmacy a couple blocks down. I’ll run and get some Pepto, maybe those electrolyte packets.”
“You don’t have to,” Aaron mumbled, the lie acidic on his tongue.
“Don’t be silly.” Dakota straightened, already grabbing his wallet. He was in fix-it mode, a comfortable role. “Zack, you okay to stay with him?”
From the balcony doorway, Zack gave a lazy salute, a fresh cigarette between his lips. “I’ll nurse him back to health.”
The moment the suite door clicked shut, the atmosphere solidified. The roar of the rain was the only sound. Zack took a long, final drag, then flicked the cigarette out into the deluge. He walked to the bed, his movements deliberate and slow. Aaron watched him come, a rabbit sensing the strike.
“Get up,” Zack said, his voice devoid of its earlier taunting humor. It was flat, a command.
“Zack, please.”
“I said get up.” He grabbed Aaron’s wrist and yanked him upright, then off the bed. Aaron stumbled, his legs weak. Zack pushed him down onto his knees on the plush carpet beside the bed. The posture was instantly degrading, a confession in itself.
Zack unbuckled his jeans, the sound stark against the rain. He freed his cock, already thick and hardening. He gripped the base, tapping the broad, leaking head against Aaron’s slack lips. “Open.”
Aaron turned his face away, a last, futile resistance. Zack’s hand shot out, tangling in his brown hair, forcing his head back. “You’re going to take it. You’re going to swallow it. And you’re going to thank me.”
He pushed the head past Aaron’s lips, a blunt, salty invasion. Aaron gagged, his throat clamping instinctively. Zack held him there, applying pressure, not yielding. “Relax your throat,” he ordered, a cold mechanic diagnosing a faulty part. When Aaron didn’t comply, Zack shoved forward.
The glide was brutal, a ruthless conquest. Zack fed him his length, inch by relentless inch, until the head nudged the back of Aaron’s throat. Aaron’s eyes watered, his vision blurring. He clutched at Zack’s thighs, nails digging into denim, as he choked, saliva leaking down his chin.
Zack began to move. He set a brutal, face-fucking pace, his hips pistoning, using Aaron’s mouth as a wet, tight hole. He pulled out only until the tip rested on Aaron’s tongue before slamming back in deep. “That’s it,” Zack grunted, his breath hitching. “Take it all. You like that, don’t you? Being used.”
Aaron couldn’t breathe. Each thrust stole his air, the thick shaft blocking his windpipe. Spots danced in his vision. His lungs burned, a primal panic seizing him. He tried to pull back, but Zack’s grip in his hair was iron, holding him perfectly in place for the assault. The sounds were obscenely wet, choked, animalistic. Blackness edged Aaron’s sight, a welcoming void.
Just as he felt consciousness slip, Zack pulled completely out. Air, cold and shocking, flooded Aaron’s raw throat. He collapsed forward, coughing, drool stringing from his mouth to the carpet, great whooping breaths tearing through him.
Zack looked down, his cock glistening with spit. He seemed… contemplative. “On the bed. On your back.”
Still gasping, Aaron crawled onto the mattress. He expected to be flipped over, taken from behind again. Instead, Zack lay back against the headboard, his legs spread. He stroked himself, his gaze locked on Aaron. “You do the work now. Ride me. I want to watch you.”
The command was a different kind of violation. This required Aaron’s active participation, his complicity written in the movement of his own hips. He hesitated, his body trembling.
“Now,” Zack said, the word a whip-crack.
Aaron moved over him, kneeling, his body overshadowing Zack’s. He reached down, guiding Zack’s thick cock to his entrance. He was sore, stretched raw from the balcony, and the initial pressure was a white-hot bite. He sank down slowly, a low, wounded moan escaping him as he was filled, stretched wider than he thought possible.
“Fuck,” Zack hissed, his hands going to Aaron’s hips, not to guide, but to feel the descent. “Jesus, you’re tight. Even after all that.”
Aaron began to move, a slow, tentative rock of his hips. The angle was different, deeper. He could feel Zack in a way that was almost transcendental, a complete occupation. Shame burned through him, but beneath it, a treacherous coil of pleasure tightened. His own cock, ignored, was hard between them.
“That’s it,” Zack encouraged, his voice a dark rumble. He thrust upward, meeting Aaron’s downward grind. “Take it all. Show me how much you need it.”
Aaron’s movements became less tentative, more rhythmic. He braced his hands on Zack’s shoulders, the muscles hard under his palms. He rose up until just the tip remained inside, then sank down hard, taking him to the root, a gasp punched from his lungs each time. The slap of their bodies found a savage rhythm, competing with the drumming rain.
He was riding Zack, actively fucking himself on his husband’s brother’s cock, and a part of him was unraveling in a burst of raw, amoral sensation. Zack’s hands gripped him harder, fingernails biting into his skin, sure to leave half-moon bruises. “You’re a natural fucking whore,” Zack breathed, his hips arching off the bed to meet him. “Look at you. So good for me.”
The coil inside Aaron snapped. His orgasm took him violently, his body clamping around Zack in a series of spasms that drew a ragged shout from the man beneath him. As Aaron shuddered through it, Zack roared, bucking up into him, his release hot and sudden, filling him up all over again.
Aaron collapsed forward, his head on Zack’s chest, their sweat-slick skin sticking together. He could feel Zack’s heart hammering against his ear, a wild echo of his own.
The keycard beeped at the suite door.
They froze. The door swung open. Dakota’s cheerful voice called out, “Got the goods!” Footsteps, then a pause in the living area. “Everything okay in here?”
Aaron’s mind screamed, but his body was locked in place, still impaled, glued to Zack by sweat and spend. Zack’s hand, resting on Aaron’s lower back, didn’t move.