Chapter 4: Another Session
The therapy room felt smaller today, the walls pushing in. Daniel sat across from him, posture perfect, notepad balanced on his knee. His eyes, though. Marcus could see a flicker in them, a crack in the professional veneer. He’d seen it before, that flash of heat, of fear, of fascination. It was the same look he’d gotten that first night at the bar.
“We didn’t finish discussing triggers last session,” Daniel began, his voice steady. “You mentioned crowds. The loss of control. I want to understand the origin of that feeling. The root of your power.”
Marcus leaned back in the chair, the metal groaning in protest. “The root.” He snorted, a soft, bitter sound. “You want the dirt it grew in. The fertilizer.”
“I want to understand what it felt like. Not the acts, Marcus. The sensation.”
A long silence stretched. Marcus looked past Daniel, out the reinforced window to the grey, institutional sky. “It felt like becoming a god,” he said, the words coming low and dark. “Not some benevolent, lightning-throwing asshole on a mountain. A primal one. An earth-shaker. You’d feel it start in your bones, this… expansion. Your heart beating like a drum that shook the fucking ground beneath you. The air would thin, the world would shrink. Buildings were toys. People were ants scurrying in patterns you could wipe away with a thought. You owned everything you could see. Not just owned it. You were it. The biggest, strongest thing in existence. And that knowledge… it went straight to the core of you. Straight to your fucking loins.”
He chanced a look at Daniel. The younger man was very still. His cheeks had flushed a delicate pink. He’d uncrossed and re-crossed his legs. Was that a slight shift in his trousers?
“I’ve seen the photographs,” Daniel said quietly, his voice a notch higher. “The… crime scene analysis. The ones the public never saw.”
Marcus’s lips twitched. “And?”
“You always had an erection. A… pronounced one. Before you’d… shed the restrictive parts of your outfit.”
A bark of laughter escaped Marcus. “Pronounced. That’s a word. It was a hard-on that could have served as a structural beam. The suit choked it. Had to let it free. It was part of the… ceremony.”
“Ceremony?”
“Of fucking the world.” The words hung in the air, obscene and electric. He saw Daniel’s breath catch. “It was all the same drive.To dominate. To penetrate. To leave your mark. I’d press against a skyscraper, feel the glass and steel strain and shatter. I’d grind against it. When I came… well. You’ve read the casualty reports from the financial district flood. That wasn’t a broken water main.”
The room was stifling. Daniel’s knuckles were white around his pen. He was definitely hard now; the subtle tenting of his grey trousers was unmistakable. A familiar, predatory thrill shot through Marcus. He leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees, crowding the space between them with his sheer mass.
“It’s the same cock, Daniel,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial, filthy rumble. “The same one you choked on. The one you begged for. The one that ripped you open and filled you up on that shitty bar bathroom floor after we left the Rusty Nail. The same one that flooded a city block with cum. These arms?” He flexed one, the fabric of his jumpsuit straining. “The ones that held you so tight you couldn’t breathe, that made you feel small and safe? They tore the supports out of a suspension bridge and watched it crumple into the river. It’s all the same.Garrett. Titan. It’s just me.”
Daniel shot to his feet, the chair screeching back. “This is… unproductive. We’re getting nowhere. This session is over.”
His voice was strained, tight. He turned away, fumbling with his folder, but not before Marcus saw the full, desperate outline of his erection pressing against his fly. Daniel practically fled the room.
Alone, Marcus sat in the simmering silence. He could still smell Daniel’s scent—that same soap, undercut with the sharp, coppery tang of adrenaline and arousal. He let out a long, slow breath. The need was a live wire in his gut. It needed an outlet.
Daniel slammed the lock on the single-stall staff bathroom, his back against the cool metal door. He was trembling. His cock throbbed, painfully hard, trapped in his pants.
The same cock.
His mind fractured. Memories of Garrett—the gentle giant, the rough hands exploring him with such possessive tenderness—smashed into the archival footage he’d secretly pulled years ago, footage only level-clearance psychologists could access. Titan, nine hundred feet tall, his silhouette a monstrous black cut-out against a burning skyline. And between his legs, jutting from the ruined seams of his battle suit, a shaft of obscene, impossible proportions. A living weapon. The reports always clinically cited “structural damage consistent with immense lateral pressure” on specific buildings. Daniel knew better now. He knew what that pressure was.
He fumbled his belt open, shoved his pants and briefs down to his thighs. He was already leaking, pre-come beading at the tip. He spat into his palm, wrapped his fist around his length, and let out a choked groan.
He thought of Garrett’s mouth, hot and demanding, swallowing him whole. He thought of Garrett’s weight, pinning him, the feeling of being utterly possessed, used, filled. Then his mind’s eye superimposed the Titan over him. That colossal face, eyes glowing with malevolent power, looking down at him as he fucked into him with world-ending force. The scale was maddening. The danger was aphrodisiac. To be that chosen, that singular focus for such devastating power… to be the one he didn’t destroy…
His strokes became frantic, rough. He pictured that massive, veined cock, the one from the pictures, the one he’d taken. He imagined it pushing into him now, splitting him wider than he’d ever been, a breach of Biblical proportions. He imagined the roar, the shudder of the ground, the flood that wasn't water.
“Oh, God… Garrett… Titan… fuck…” he whimpered, the words a broken prayer.
His orgasm ripped through him, vicious and short. He came over his fist and the pristine white toilet bowl, stripes of white hitting the water and the porcelain. He slumped, breathless, sweating, filled with a shame so deep it felt like drowning. He rested his forehead against the stall partition. The ghost of a massive hand seemed to curl around his throat, holding him gently, possessively, in the aftermath.
Nadia from logistics answered her apartment door with a glass of wine in her hand, her blonde hair piled in a messy bun. Her eyes widened, then warmed with immediate, hungry interest.“Marcus. This is a surprise.”
“Bad time?” he asked, leaning in her doorway, filling the frame.
“The opposite.” She stepped back, a clear invitation.
Inside, he didn’t waste time. The energy from the session, from seeing Daniel’s reaction, was a storm inside him. He needed to unleash it. He backed her against her own kitchen counter, kissing her deeply, his hands pulling her loose sweater over her head. She was eager, nipping at his lip, her hands roaming his chest.
“I’ve wanted this since you got here,” she mumbled against his mouth, her fingers working at the buttons of his shirt.
He let her undress him, standing like a statue as she peeled the fabric away. Her breath hitched at the sight of his chest, thick with dark hair, the heavy musculature of his torso, the trail leading down. When she got his pants open and they fell, she actually gasped.
“Jesus Christ, Marcus,” she whispered, kneeling before him. She didn’t hesitate. She took his balls first, a hefty sac in her small hands, nuzzling them, licking the skin. Then she took the head of his cock into her mouth, worshipping it with a moan. “So big… so fucking perfect.”
He let her suck him for a minute, the wet heat a pale echo of what he craved. Then he pulled her up, turned her around, and bent her over the back of her plush sofa. He yanked her leggings and panties down to her knees. He spread her ass cheeks and went to his knees behind her.
He ate her out with a brutal, single-minded focus. His beard scratched the soft skin of her inner thighs as his tongue speared into her cunt, licking and fucking her with it. He dragged it up to her clit, circling, sucking. Nadia screamed, her hands fisting the couch cushions, her hips bucking against his face. “Oh, fuck! Right there! Don’t stop!” She came against his mouth, her body shuddering.
When he stood up, his beard was glistening with her wetness. He was granite-hard. He rubbed the head of his cock through her slick folds, then pressed in. He didn’t go slow. He filled her in one deep, relentless thrust, burying himself to the hilt.
Nadia cried out, a sound of pure, stretched-to-the-limit bliss. “Yes! Fuck me! Fuck me with that monster cock!”
He fucked her just like that, bent over the sofa. Hard, deep, piston-like strokes that shook the furniture and made her shriek with each impact. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise. He pounded into her, the sound of flesh slapping flesh filling the apartment. He fucked her with the same impersonal, dominating force he’d used to level city blocks. She loved it. She begged for it. She chanted his name like a mantra.
But his mind drifted. The wet, clenching heat around him wasn't right. The sounds weren't right. The submission was too easy, too expected.
He needed the contradiction. He needed the innocence. He needed the shocked, brown eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He needed the taste of cheap lager and earnestness. He needed the tight, virginal heat that had once gripped him like a vice, not this practiced, willing welcome.
He thought of Daniel. Daniel in the bar, so clever and soft. Daniel under him, trembling, taking all of him. Daniel in the therapy room today, flushed and hard and horrified by his own arousal. That sweet, innocent face contorted in pleasure-pain. That slender body being used, claimed, dominated by the same power that could bring down civilizations.
It was that image—Daniel’s lips parted in a silent scream, Daniel’s body arching, taking him, being flooded by him—that sent him over the edge.
With a guttural roar that belonged entirely to Titan, Marcus slammed deep and held there. His release was volcanic, pumping into Nadia in hot, endless surges. He saw Daniel’s face. He heard Daniel’s broken voice.
Daddy.
He collapsed forward, his weight pressing Nadia into the couch cushions, his mind thousands of miles and several years away, in a shabby apartment that smelled of sex and something perilously close to love. He stayed there, spent, trapped in the ghost of a feeling he’d destroyed long before he ever leveled his first city. The emptiness that followed was more vast than any god’s domain.