could he even deny that? did he even want to? they both knew it, after all, there was no point in claiming otherwise; he would never give up sex with the man, in spite of his hate. they’d been doing so well, though. they’d both stayed away for so long; asher had figured they could just move on; that it could be permanent this time ( rookie mistake ). he wouldn’t ever fully admit it to brett, though. he might beg, he might confess amidst his moans, but in any regular setting he’d never tell brett that he occupied a place in asher’s life that nobody had ever or would ever wrest from him.
“we’re equally insane then,” he hissed, voice laced with deep, dark desire. he wanted to slap him senseless as much as he wanted the same treatment from brett’s hands on his ass. he wanted to mouth off and scream at him as much as he wanted to wrap those same lips around his cock and suck him dry. his parents were right; maybe there truly was something wrong with him.
asher was a professional with masking his reactions and feigning them when necessary, but in this case he seemed able to do neither. once he was already on edge and riled up — a talent of brett’s with him — control quickly slipped from his grasp and there he was: moaning, arching his back, gasping sharply at the sensation of those two fingers sliding into him, probing inside. asher didn’t like being at anyone’s mercy, not truly, yet right now panting and moaning brett’s name as his fingertips caressed that spot was all he could muster. “oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—” unintelligible, weak, desperate. he couldn’t even collect himself enough to wonder how much pleasure brett took in the easy downfall of his dignity.
a whimper was pulled from his throat at the same time as brett’s fingers pulled him open; hot, breathless, almost shocked moans at every slight movement, at the mere feeling of warm breath against the cleft of his ass. that was his throne, where he belonged, what he’d been waiting for. even being called a demon hardly even registered as he settled on brett’s mouth — soft lips, wet tongue, the scratch of beard; the feeling indescribable. “yes—fuck, yes, oh—” ash braced his hands against the older man’s abdomen, shuddering as he shimmied his hips just so; as that mouth suctioned to the sensitive rim. that mouth, that fucking heaven-sent mouth on such a devil of a man. “brett, brett— s’good, so so good…”
Brett had been a terrible boyfriend. He knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt. It wasn’t as though he’d tried, however; as far as he was concerned, the most important part had been his own pleasure, Asher’s be damned. Of course… he’d been lucky enough that it hadn’t been a battle he’d needed to fight too relentless. Brett was also exceedingly mercurial, and his passion turned to annoyance within the scope of a few minutes. It was too easy.
Asher called them “equally insane,” and those were the truest words the boy had ever spoken. Brett was delighted by the idea. Of course they were. They were absolutely mad, their sanity couldn’t be retrieved, and Brett would have it no other why. Why else would Asher be there, over him, squirming and panting and writhing, opening up for Brett like a goddamn flower? Sure, Brett had money, which in this world meant more than it should, but it was more than that. It was addiction, pure and simple. Worse than any needle or drink. Harder to kill, too.
It was only when Asher began to fall apart over him that Brett truly felt as though he was doing this right. The stream of expletives, the whimper, and finally, the way he braced himself and gave Brett what he’d demanded. Brett’s mouth worked lewdly, greedily, tongue diving in, fingers massaging the rim, keeping the boy’s hole open and ready. God, how his cock ached to be inside; it twitched within the confines of his lounge pants -- Versace, obviously -- and hardened, the fabric swelling.
Brett was not a patient man, and he was trapped between the desire to keep Asher on the line, and his own need for fulfillment; he wanted Asher to unravel further, but perhaps... enough was enough. His hands shifting, cupping Asher’s ass now, and shoved, moving the boy suddenly. He took fully advantage of the forward movement to roll Asher over so the boy was on his hands and knees; Brett pushed to his knees beside, groin pressed against Asher’s ass, palms gripping his hips, to keep his own clothed cock tight against Asher’s flesh. “Have you earned Daddy’s dick yet, monster? God, you’re such a whore, aren’t you?”
Oddly, it was the most endeared statement he made, the words somewhat fond. Fingers traced along Asher’s spine, tickling, before his nails dug in and scraped down, leaving bright red streaks. “Tell me what you can do to be a good boy and earn this cock in your slut ass. Beg.”
