Chapter 1: Bunny Tease
The bedroom was a cave of soft, worn-out things. A single bare bulb buzzed overhead, casting a wavering glow over the mounds of blankets on the floor, the discarded water bottle by the bed, the faint, permanent scent of lavender laundry soap overlaid with the sharp, clean tang of male sweat. Hank sat on the edge of the mattress, his tattooed shoulders slumped, a towel draped around his neck. He was tired.The kind of tired that went deeper than muscles.
A warmth pressed against his back.Then a subtle, rhythmic pressure against the base of his spine.
He didn’t need to look.He knew the feel of that body, the specific give of those slightly thick thighs. Argi. He was grinding his ass, that bubbly, perfect ass barely contained by the thin black fabric of the bodysuit, against Hank’s crotch. The motion was slow, innocent and knowing all at once. A kittenish nudge that sent an electric jolt straight through Hank’s exhaustion.“Stop that,” Hank said, his voice a low rumble. He didn’t move.
Argi whined into the nape of his neck, a soft, high sound that vibrated against Hank’s skin.The grinding didn’t stop.It became more deliberate. Hank could feel himself stirring, hardening against the pressure, a traitorous response he tried and failed to choke down.He’d been choking it down for a year.
He saw the pale, pink-haired head tilt, those sad, sky-blue eyes glancing back at him from under fluffy bangs. Argi’s hands were curled in that familiar dinosaur pose, resting on his own thighs. The pose of something pretending to be harmless. The heart-shaped zipper pull of the pajamas gleamed in the low light.Hank’s control snapped.
“I said stop.” His hand shot back, not to push, but to grab. His fingers dug into the plush flesh of Argi’s thigh through the bodysuit, squeezing hard. Argi gasped, a sharp inhale, but pushed back into the grip, his back arching. Hank could see the line of his throat, the flutter of a pulse under that pale skin.Fuck.
He stood up suddenly, turning.Argi stumbled back, eyes wide, but not with fear.With a bright, terrifying anticipation. Hank loomed over him, his own breath coming harder now. He looked at the creature he’d saved—the pink hair, the dark circles, the pouty mouth now slightly open. He looked at the ridiculous, sexy-as-hell bunny-eared hood hanging down his back, at the way the fabric clung to every dip and curve.
“Stand up straight,” Hank commanded, his voice gravel.Argi straightened, whimpering softly, his hands still curled.He was hard. The evidence was a clear, tempting bulge against the black spandex. Hank stared at it, his mind going blank and white with want. All his patient lessons, all his careful caretaking, melted into the heat pooling in his gut.“Fuck it,” Hank breathed.
In one swift motion, he closed the distance, his hands sliding under Argi’s thighs, and lifted him. Argi was light, almost weightless. He let out a startled yelp, his legs automatically wrapping around Hank’s waist, his arms looping around his neck. Hank carried him the two steps to the wall beside the bed, pinning him against it. The fluffy pom-pom drawstrings of the hood brushed his wrists.He didn’t prepare him.He didn’t ask. The furious, pent-up need of a year was a roar in his ears. With his free hand, he yanked at the spandex, tearing the seam at the crotch open with a rough rip. Argi cried out, a sharp, pained sound. Hank spit into his palm, slicked himself roughly, and notched his cock against the tight, clenching heat he’d exposed.
He thrust in.One deep, brutal, complete stroke.
Arghi’s entire body went rigid, a hissed shriek escaping his teeth.His nails dug into Hank’s tattooed shoulders. It was too much, too dry, too fast.Hank knew it, and he didn’t care. He buried himself to the hilt, feeling the incredible, vise-like tightness swallow him whole. He stayed there for a second, panting, forehead pressed against the wall beside Argi’s head, feeling the creature’s rapid breaths puff against his cheek.
Then the pain seemed to melt, transformed by whatever strange biology Argi possessed. The hiss softened into a high, reedy moan. Argi’s body loosened, then actively pulled him deeper, his legs tightening around Hank’s hips.He began to move, little desperate rolls of his pelvis.
“Yeah… you take it,” Hank grunted, his civilized facade gone. He pulled back and slammed back in, setting a punishing rhythm.The wall thumped dully in time with his thrusts. Each drive punched another broken sound from Argi’s throat—whines, sobs, jagged moans that pitched higher and higher.
Hank fucked him like that, standing, pinning him to the wall. He looked down between their bodies, watching where he disappeared into the torn black fabric, into that tight, welcoming heat. Argi’s own cock, hard and leaking, rubbed against Hank’s sweat-slicked abdomen with every movement.
“You wanted this, didn’t you?” Hank snarled, his voice thick.“This what you were asking for with your little grind? Huh?”
Argi could only nod frantically, his pink hair sticking to his damp forehead. His eyes were glazed, tears tracking through the dark circles under them. He was beautiful like this, wrecked and desperate.Hank’s pace became erratic, animal. The slap of skin, the ragged gasps, the creak of the wall—it all fused into a single, driving noise.He felt the coiling tension in his balls, a pressure about to break. He gripped Argi harder, his fingers leaving bruises on those pale thighs.
“Gonna come inside you,” he warned, a final, possessive grunt.
Argi’s body clenched around him violently, milking him. A silent scream shook Argi’s frame as he came, hot stripes of wetness painting Hank’s stomach.The sudden, pulsing tightness threw Hank over the edge. He drove in one last time, deep, and spilled into him with a raw, guttural shout, his hips jerking through the waves of release.For a long minute, they stayed like that. Hank, slumped against him, still buried inside. Argi, boneless, held up by the wall and Hank’s arms. The only sounds were their heaving breaths and the distant buzz of the bulb.Slowly, Hank softened and slid out. He lowered Argi’s shaking legs to the floor, but Argi couldn’t stand, his knees buckling. Hank caught him, lowering them both to the nest of blankets on the floor in a clumsy heap.
Argi immediately curled into him, nuzzling his face into Hank’s hairy chest with a contented, exhausted sigh. Hank stared up at the cracked ceiling, the adrenaline fading, leaving a hollow where the rage had been. The room smelled of sex and sweat and torn spandex.
He looked at the tear in the black fabric, at the evidence of his own roughness smeared between Argi’s thighs. A sickening twist of guilt tightened in his gut, but beneath it, thrumming low and steady, was a dark, satisfied thread of possession.He’d crossed a line. There was no going back.Argi’s breathing evened out into sleep. Hank kept staring at the ceiling, one hand absently stroking the pink hair, his mind already racing into a tomorrow that had irrevocably changed.