Chapter 9: Human Hunger
The kiss in the cramped kitchen broke only when the need for air became desperate. Yamato’s hands, still gripping Taichi’s hips, felt like brands through the thin cotton of his shirt. The energy between them had shifted, crackling with a voltage that made the dim bulb overhead seem to flicker.
“Bedroom,” Yamato growled, the word less a request and more a raw statement of intent. It wasn’t a question.
Before Taichi could muster a witty reply, Yamato moved. One arm hooked under Taichi’s knees, the other around his back, and he lifted him clear off the floor as if he weighed nothing. Taichi gasped, his own arms locking around Yamato’s neck for balance. He was being carried, and the sheer, effortless strength of it sent a jolt of pure heat straight to his groin. This was different from the wolf’s brute force in the forest; this was controlled, human power laced with a predatory purpose.
Yamato shouldered his way into the small, cluttered bedroom. He didn’t turn on the light. The murky grey twilight from the window was enough. He laid Taichi down on the unmade bed with a focused care that contradicted the hunger in his eyes. Then he followed him down, knees on the mattress, caging Taichi beneath him. The weight was familiar, but the context was utterly new.
“I need to feel you,” Yamato breathed, his voice gravelly and thick. His ice-blue eyes scanned Taichi’s face, searching. “Not like before. Not the wolf. Just you. Me. Human.”
“You are human,” Taichi said, reaching up to trace the line of Yamato’s jaw.
“Mostly.” Yamato captured his wrist, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the palm. “Right now, I’m trying to remember how.”
His other hand went to the hem of Taichi’s shirt, rucking it up. The touch was impatient, rougher than before. Fabric tore a little at the neckline. Taichi didn’t care. He lifted his arms, letting Yamato strip the shirt away and toss it into the shadows. The cool air hit his skin, followed immediately by the scorching heat of Yamato’s palms sliding over his chest, his stomach, mapping the athletic planes of him.
“Your turn,” Taichi managed, fingers fumbling with the buttons of Yamato’s black shirt. He got a few undone before Yamato lost patience, sitting back on his haunches to tear the shirt off himself. Buttons pinged against the wall. The pale, wiry muscle of Yamato’s torso was revealed, a landscape of old, silvery scars Taichi had never seen. He didn’t ask. He just looked, committing it to memory.
Yamato leaned back down, his mouth finding Taichi’s again. This kiss was deeper, wetter, all tongue and teeth and shared breath. Taichi met it with equal fervor, his hands sliding down Yamato’s back, feeling the tension corded there. They rocked together, still half-dressed, the hard line of Yamato’s erection pressing against Taichi’s thigh through his jeans was insistent, undeniable.
Pants and boxers were dealt with in a frantic, clumsy push and pull of fabric. Kicked to the floor. Finally, skin to skin.
Taichi’s breath caught. The full, naked length of Yamato was against him, and he was breathtaking. All lean, coiled strength, his cock hot and heavy against Taichi’s stomach. Yamato’s hand slid between them, wrapping around both of them. His grip was firm, almost too tight, his palm slick with pre-come.
“Fuck,” Taichi hissed, his hips bucking involuntarily into the friction. The feeling was electric, a direct line of pleasure that short-circuited his higher thoughts. Yamato’s hand worked them together, a rough, slick rhythm that had Taichi seeing stars behind his eyelids.
Yamato’s forehead dropped to Taichi’s shoulder, his breathing ragged against the bandage. “I need to be inside you,” he rasped, the words vibrating against Taichi’s skin. “Now. I can’t wait. I need it.”
“Yes,” Taichi gasped, his own need a roaring in his ears. He spread his legs in open invitation, hooking a heel behind Yamato’s calf. “Do it. Fuck me.”
Yamato shifted, fumbling for a moment in the bedside drawer until his hand closed around a small bottle. He coated himself hurriedly, then pressed a slick finger against Taichi, working him open with a haste that bordered on frantic. It was fast, a little rough, but Taichi was already buzzing with anticipation, his body yielding easily.
He positioned himself, the blunt head of his cock nudging at Taichi’s entrance. Their eyes locked in the half-dark. Yamato’s gaze was blazing, full of a vulnerability that was almost more shocking than the hunger.
He pushed in.
Slowly. An agonizing, perfect inch by inch. Taichi’s mouth fell open on a silent cry, his body stretching to accommodate the thick, insistent pressure. It was different from the frantic claiming in the woods. This was hotter, more intimate, a deliberate joining. He could feel every vein, every slight tremor in Yamato’s thighs as he held himself back.
“God, Tai,” Yamato choked out, fully seated, buried to the hilt. He was trembling. “You feel… you’re everything.”
Taichi wrapped his legs around Yamato’s waist, pulling him even deeper, eliminating the last sliver of space between them. “Move,” he begged. “Please.”
Yamato began to fuck him with a steady, powerful rhythm. Each thrust was deep, measured, driving the air from Taichi’s lungs in punched-out gasps. Yamato’s hips pistoned, his pace unwavering, each stroke grinding against that incredible spot inside that made Taichi’s vision blur. The bedframe knocked a dull tattoo against the wall, a primal drumbeat to their coupling.
“You take me so well,” Yamato grunted, his voice guttural. His hands slid under Taichi’s back, lifting him into each drive. “So fucking perfect. Mine.”
The possessiveness in the word, paired with the overwhelming physical sensation, tipped Taichi over an edge he was already clinging to. “Yamato… fuck, right there, don’t stop,” he whimpered, his fingers digging into the scarred skin of Yamato’s shoulders. His cock, trapped and leaking between their sweat-slick stomachs, twitched violently.
Yamato leaned down, his mouth hot on Taichi’s throat, his teeth scraping. Then he moved to the bandaged shoulder, his breath scorching the gauze. He didn’t bite down, but the threat, the promise of it, was there. His thrusts became harder, faster, losing their steady rhythm for something more frantic, more desperate.
“Come for me,” Yamato commanded against his skin, his own control fraying. It wasn’t a request. It was an order from the core of his being, alpha and lover fused into one.
Taichi shattered. His orgasm ripped through him with no warning, a white-hot wire of pleasure pulled taut and then snapped. He cried out, a raw, broken sound, as his cock pulsed, stripes of hot come splashing across his own stomach and chest, the wet heat smearing between them.
The clenching, pulsing tightness of Taichi around him was all Yamato needed. With a ragged, choked groan, he drove in one last, deep time and stilled. Taichi felt the hot, sudden flood of Yamato’s release inside him, a claiming far more intimate than any bite. Yamato buried his face in the crook of Taichi’s neck, his entire body going rigid, then slack with a profound shudder.
For long minutes, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing slowing, syncing. The smell of sex and sweat and incense filled the room. Yamato’s weight was a welcome anchor.
Eventually, Yamato shifted, pulling out with a soft, wet sound. He collapsed beside Taichi, on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes. Taichi turned his head, studying the sharp profile, the sheen of sweat on his chest.
“So,” Taichi said, his voice hoarse. “Human enough for you?”
A slow, genuine smile—rare and breathtaking—spread across Yamato’s face. He turned his head, his glowing eyes now soft in the aftermath. “More than.” He reached over, his fingers gently tracing through the mess on Taichi’s stomach. “The pack meeting is tomorrow night.”
The words landed in the quiet room like stones. The warmth and satiation receded slightly, the real world and its dangers pressing back in.
Taichi didn’t flinch. He caught Yamato’s hand, lacing their sticky fingers together. “Then we’ll be ready.”
Outside, from the deep black of the forest, a single, long howl lifted into the night. It wasn’t a challenge. It sounded like a summons. Yamato’s eyes flicked toward the window, the glow in them flaring once, briefly, before he turned back to Taichi, his grip tightening.