Chapter 25: We Survived!
The silence after the gunshot had been the loudest sound Scott had ever heard. It echoed in the sterile hospital corridor, in the empty spaces of his apartment, in the hollow of his own chest. Rebecca was gone. Dr. Voss was gone. Liv, vanished into the system, a ghost of vengeance finally spent.
It was over.
The thought didn’t bring peace so much as a staggering, vertiginous emptiness. For six years, his life had been defined by that house, by the specters it cast. Now, suddenly, there was… nothing. No enemy to fear, no secret to unravel. Just the quiet, and the memories, and the desperate need to feel something other than this yawning void.
He stood before Luke’s door, his heartbeat a frantic drum against his ribs. He’d spent an hour picking the outfit: thin, grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips, showcasing the sharp V leading down, and a tight black tank top that clung to his slender frame. He’d shaved carefully, soaked in cologne he knew Luke liked. It was a uniform of intent, of celebration, of desperate need.
He knocked.
The door flew open so fast it startled him. Luke stood there, still in his work trousers, his dress shirt untucked and sleeves rolled up. His eyes, usually so guarded, blazed with a hunger so immediate and intense it stole Scott’s breath. They raked down his body, from his nervous eyes to the palpable outline of his cock against the soft fabric of the sweats.
“Fuck,” Luke breathed, the word a guttural punch of air.
He didn’t say another word. A massive hand shot out, gripping Scott’s bicep, and yanked him inside. The door slammed shut, the deadbolt thudding home. Scott barely had time to gasp before Luke’s arms were around him, lifting him clear off the floor as if he weighed nothing. Scott wrapped his legs around Luke’s waist instinctively, a laugh of pure, giddy relief bubbling from his throat.
Luke carried him through to the kitchen, his mouth crashing down on Scott’s. It wasn’t a kiss; it was a consumption. Lips, teeth, tongue—a desperate, claiming invasion. Scott moaned into it, his fingers tangling in Luke’s short, coarse hair. Luke leaned him back over the kitchen table, knocking a stack of mail, a set of keys, a half-empty coffee mug clattering to the floor. He didn’t even glance at the mess. His mouth was everywhere: sucking a bruise into the hollow of Scott’s throat, biting at his collarbone through the thin fabric, laving his nipple until it peaked hard and painful against the damp cotton.
“Missed you,” Luke growled between kisses that felt like brands. “God, I missed this. Needed this.”
“It’s over, Luke,” Scott panted, arching his back. “It’s really over.”
“I know. Fuck, I know. This is ours now.”
Luke set him on his feet, but only to tear the clothes from his body. The tank top ripped at the neck. The sweatpants were shoved down roughly, pooling at Scott’s ankles. He stood there, naked, exposed, shivering in the cool kitchen air. Luke took a step back, just looking. His gaze was a physical weight, heating Scott’s skin everywhere it touched.
“Look at you,” Luke murmured, his voice thick. “Perfect. My perfect boy.”
Scott looked back, drinking in the sight of Luke pulling his own clothes off. The shirt was torn open, buttons pinging on the linoleum. The trousers and boxers were pushed down, and Luke sprang free, already fully, impressively hard. Scott’s mouth went dry. He never got used to the sheer size of him: the thick, veined shaft, the heavy, low-hanging balls framed by a jungle of dark, coarse hair. Luke’s body was a landscape of power—broad chest matted with hair, shoulders that bulged with cords of muscle, a stomach ridged and hard. He was a fortress. Scott’s sanctuary.
“Come here,” Luke commanded.
Scott stumbled forward, but Luke was on him again. He turned Scott around, bending him forward over the cleared edge of the table. The wood was cool and smooth against Scott’s fevered skin.
“Please,” Scott whispered, spreading his legs. “No prep. Just… claim me. I’m clean. I need it raw.”
A low, animal sound rumbled from Luke’s chest. He spat into his palm once, twice, slicking his enormous cock. The blunt, spongy head pressed against Scott’s entrance, a promise of stretch and burn. Luke’s other hand planted firmly between Scott’s shoulder blades, pinning him.
“Breathe out,” Luke ordered.
Scott exhaled, and Luke shoved in.
The intrusion was brutal, monumental. Scott screamed, his fingers scrambling for purchase on the table’s edge. There was no gentle slide, only a relentless, splitting invasion. Luke seated himself to the hilt in one devastating thrust, his hips meeting Scott’s ass with a fleshy slap. The fullness was beyond anything. Scott felt speared, owned, utterly penetrated.
Then Luke began to fuck.
It was a punishing, piston-like rhythm, each withdrawal a tease before the brutal, deep slam home. The table screeched across the floor with every drive. Luke’s balls slapped wetly against him. The sounds were obscene: skin slapping skin, Luke’s ragged grunts, Scott’s choked-off cries that morphed into moans.
“That’s it, take your daddy’s cock,” Luke snarled, his voice strained with effort. “This tight little ass is mine. All mine. Nobody else. Never.”
“Yours!” Scott sobbed, the pleasure a nerve-shredding wire pulled tight from his prostate to his brain. “Only yours, Daddy!”
Luke’s pace became erratic, furious. He fucked like a man trying to exorcise a demon, or become one. One of his hands left Scott’s back and wrapped around his leaking cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. It was too much. The coil, wound so tight for so long, snapped.
Scott came with a broken shriek, his cum painting the table leg in hot, white stripes. His body clamped down hard around Luke’s invading thickness, milking him, pulling him over the edge.
“Fuck! Scott!” Luke roared, slamming in one last, deep time, his body going rigid. Scott felt the hot, pulsing flood inside him, jet after jet, filling him up. Luke held there, grinding deep, as he emptied himself.
Slowly, he pulled out. Scott shuddered at the sensation of release, of seepage. He was a boneless, used mess. He sank to his knees on the cool floor, turning to face Luke’s glistening, softening cock. Without a word, he leaned forward and took the head into his mouth, lapping gently, cleaning away their mingled spend with his tongue. The taste was salty, bitter, profoundly intimate.
Luke groaned, his hand cradling the back of Scott’s head. “Good boy,” he rasped. But the tenderness vanished, replaced by a rougher need. As Scott cleaned him, Luke guided his head lower. “Now these. Get your face in there.”
Scott nuzzled into the dense, sweaty hair of Luke’s groin, his mouth finding the heavy, fleshy sac beneath. He took one ball gently into his mouth, then the other, worshipping them with his tongue, inhaling the raw, musky scent of sex and man. Luke’s fingers tightened in his hair, holding him there, making him breathe it in.
“Enough.”
Luke pulled him up, then in one fluid motion, bent and hoisted Scott over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Scott yelped, dangling, his world inverted. He felt a trickle of Luke’s cum leak down his inner thigh as he was carried out of the kitchen, down the hall. He pressed his face against Luke’s back, against the sweat-damp shirt, inhaling the strong, solid scent of him.
In the bedroom, Luke dumped him onto the bed. Scott scrambled onto his back, looking up as Luke loomed over him, already hard again. His resilience was terrifying, exhilarating.
“Arms up,” Luke said, his voice a dark promise.
Scott obeyed, raising his arms above his head. Luke knelt over him, one massive thigh pinning Scott’s legs. He brought his armpit down over Scott’s face. “Breathe.”
Scott turned his face, burying his nose and mouth into the damp, hairy hollow. The scent was overpowering—pure, unadulterated Luke, salt and pheromones and power. He licked the skin, suckled at it, intoxicated.
Luke growled in approval. Then he was moving, positioning himself, and pushing back inside Scott’s used, willing body.
The second round was longer, deeper, more possessive. The third, against the wall, was raw and efficient, Luke pounding into him with short, vicious strokes until they both came again, Scott’s screams muffled against the drywall. The fourth was on the floor, Scott on his hands and knees, Luke riding him like an animal, his language degenerating into pure filth.
“You’re my fucking hole, understand? My breeding ground. I’m gonna pump you so full of me you’ll taste it for weeks.”
“Yes! Daddy, yes! Fill me up!”
Load after load. Round after round. It was an exorcism of joy, a baptism of cum. Scott lost count, lost time, lost everything but the feeling of being thoroughly, completely annihilated by the man who had pulled him from hell. He was a fucked-out mess, sore and leaking and delirious, but he had never felt more alive.
Finally, spent, Luke collapsed beside him on the wrecked bed. They were both slick with sweat, shining in the low light. Scott’s entire body throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He turned, wincing, and curled into Luke’s side, his head finding its home on that massive, hairy chest. He listened to the frantic gallop of Luke’s heart gradually slow.
The silence wasn’t empty anymore. It was full of their breathing, the smell of sex, the warmth of skin.
“Luke?” Scott’s voice was hoarse, ruined.
“Hmm?”
“I think… I’ve always been in love with you. Since you found me. I just didn’t have a name for it. It was just… you. The only safe thing.”
Luke’s arm, heavy and solid, wrapped around him, pulling him closer. He was quiet for so long Scott thought he might have fallen asleep.
“I love you, Scott.” The words were low, gravelly, freighted with a meaning Scott couldn’t fully grasp. “More than you can possibly know. You are the only… clean thing. The only purpose. I have loved you with everything I am. Even the parts I hate.”
It was everything he’d ever wanted to hear. Scott closed his eyes, a single tear tracking through the sweat on his temple, soaking into Luke’s chest hair. A profound, weary contentment settled over him. He was safe. He was loved. It was over.
He nuzzled deeper, his breathing evening out, and fell asleep.
Luke lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The weight of Scott against him was a blessing and an agony. He’d marked him tonight, branded him inside and out, poured every corrupted ounce of his devotion into him. It was a claiming, yes. But it was also a farewell.
Soon, he thought, the familiar, cold certainty settling in his gut. The last pieces are in motion. I will ascend. I will become something that can shield him from every terror, forever. A god for my godless boy.
He looked down at Scott’s sleeping face, peaceful, trusting.
But when he sees what I am, what I’ve done… when he understands the price of that power… will he still look at me like this? Will he still call me Daddy when he knows the blood on my hands is older than the halfway house?
That was the true terror. That was why he’d been so rough, so desperate to imprint himself on Scott’s very soul tonight. He was creating a memory of passion so extreme it might, just might, survive the horror to come.
He didn’t know. For the first time in his calculated, monstrous life, Luke had no idea if the thing he cherished most would be there when the transformation was complete.
He held Scott tighter, as if he could keep the dawn at bay through sheer force of will, and watched over him in the dark.