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Crale hadn’t meant to be here. The Citadel’s west wing was meant to be empty at this hour, its fire pits left to ember and the library chambers cold. But the heavy scent hit him the moment he pushed the door in: not incense, not woodsmoke—skin. Male skin, warm and salted, the kind that clung to a man’s teeth long after he’d bitten down.
The firelight caught him first, a bright lick from the brazier at the far end, dancing up the columns and gilding the stone. Then it found Calder.
He was posed on the low couch as if deliberately offering himself to the room—legs parted just enough, back angled in a slow arch that displayed every carved ridge of his musculature. His shoulders were slabs of granite, bunched and glossy under the flicker, feeding down into the deep canyon of his spine. Each vertebra rode high under stretched skin before spilling into the swell of his glutes—two full, heavy mounds that shifted faintly with his breath, the cleft between them drawing the light like a blade-edge. His hole was barely visible in the shadow, but Crale could see the tight, dark ring puckering with each inhale, hair-dusted and slick with the faint sheen of sweat.
Crale’s jaw locked. Gods. He let his eyes roam lower, to where the thick thatch of silver-dark hair crowned Calder’s groin, the roots damp, the strands curling against skin. His cock lay forward along the couch, half-hard, thick even in rest, with a natural downward curve that made the prominent ridge of the underside vein stand out in the light. The shaft’s girth was enough that Crale imagined his fingers would barely close around it. The head was blunt, wide, the slit shining wet. Beneath, his balls hung low and heavy, swaying faintly with the movement of his breath—two full, weighty orbs that would fill a palm and drag against any thigh they brushed.
He should have left. Instead, he leaned on the doorframe, taking in every detail like a starving man counting a feast. The scatter of fine hair across Calder’s chest caught the light in threads, running between the deep cut of his pecs and down the centerline of his abdominals before thickening again at his groin. His nipples were tight from the ambient heat, dark and just high enough that Crale could picture them between his teeth.
A slow, possessive heat pooled low in Crale’s gut. The sight of Calder—unaware, spread, breathing—wasn’t an invitation. But it wasn’t a denial either.
Crale stepped into the room, boots whispering on the stone. The scent was stronger here. He imagined the heat radiating from Calder’s body, the way the man’s muscles would shift under his hands, the feel of that perfect ass giving just enough before clenching down. His own cock stirred thickly in his trousers, swelling to full weight, the fabric tightening obscenely as he took another step.
He was close enough now to see the fine tremor in Calder’s hamstrings, the subtle twitch of his hole, the slow stretch of skin over glutes made to be gripped. Crale’s pulse pounded in his ears. He didn’t speak. Didn’t warn. He wanted Calder to feel him before hearing him—wanted that startled intake of breath when he pressed against him from behind.
Without a word, he slid in behind him, his fully clothed frame pressing into Calder’s bare heat. One broad hand came around, wrapping firmly at the base of Calder’s cock, fingers closing in a claiming grip. The other rose to Calder’s throat, palm firm but not crushing, tilting his head back into the shadow of Crale’s face.
Calder gasped, the sound raw and startled, his whole body shuddering at the sudden hold. His ass pushed back instinctively, cheeks spreading to take the thick pressure of Crale’s covered cock between them. The heat of it—hard, unyielding—made his breath catch again.
Crale’s mouth lowered to his ear, voice a deep rasp. “Mine to take. Mine to keep.” The words dragged over Calder’s skin as surely as the tongue that followed, tracing the shell of his ear in a slow, wet sweep.
Calder’s cock twitched in Crale’s grip, pre-cum spilling from its tip in a thick bead, the sound of his moan low and helpless in the firelit chamber.
Crale began to move his hand—slow, punishing strokes, pulling up just to the ridge beneath the head before pressing back down to the base. With each downward drag, he leaned into Calder’s ear with another claim. “You’re already leaking for me.” Downstroke. “You’ll come when I tell you.” Downstroke. “No one else touches you like this.”
On each upstroke, Calder’s hips drove back, ass grinding hard against the thick length trapped in Crale’s trousers. The friction made him moan—a strangled, desperate sound—while his cock poured slick into Crale’s hand.
Three slow repetitions, each one heavier, more insistent. By the last, Crale’s voice was a growl, his breath hot against Calder’s skin. Calder’s body answered without thought, shuddering in Crale’s grip, cock jerking, need winding tighter with every stroke.
Calder moaned, voice breaking into a whisper that slipped past his lips—"So close…" His cock jumped reflexively in Crale’s hand, the shaft throbbing against that firm grip. Crale’s fingers tightened into a vice, halting his release, his tone dropping into a near-purr. “You will not cum until I tell you.”
The pressure eased, hand sliding lower to cup Calder’s balls. The sudden touch drew a sharp hiss from Calder, followed by a needy whimper when Crale’s grip closed again, heavier this time, squeezing until Calder’s breath hitched. “Understood?”
“Good boy,” Crale murmured, releasing his hold and turning Calder sharply to face him. His eyes locked on Calder’s, a rough command spilling from his lips. “On your knees. Hands behind your back. Touch yourself once, and there will be consequences.”
Calder dropped immediately, settling on his knees, arms folded back, eyes lifted. Crale’s mouth curved in a dark smile. “Good boy.”
He began to strip—slow, deliberate, peeling away his clothes as if feeding Calder each inch of bare skin. Fingers rolled over his own nipples, teasing them until his breath deepened, a low moan rumbling in his chest. His trousers fell away last, cock springing free without underwear to contain it—thick, flushed, heavy, the head glistening in the firelight.
Stepping clear of the fabric pooled at his feet, Crale wrapped a hand around himself, stroking with deliberate pace, eyes locked on Calder’s face. “You’re enjoying the view,” he said, voice low and knowing.
Calder’s breath hitched into an audible stutter, tongue darting to wet his lips before he swallowed hard. His gaze roamed hungrily, cataloguing the body in front of him—the sculpted power in Crale’s chest and arms, the light scatter of hair over muscle, the carved strength of his abdomen. His eyes traced the thick cords of Crale’s thighs, the confident stance that spoke of unshakable control. Then at his core—those large, rough hands stroking his cock, the length thick and veined, curving slightly upward, the head flushed dark and shining with slick. Beneath it, his balls hung heavy and full, swaying faintly with each motion, the skin taut and warm-looking, begging for the weight to be felt.
Crale pumped himself slowly, letting the slick sound fill the space. “Tell me, Calder… where do you want this first? Down your throat? Pressed into you until you break?”
Crale’s grin deepened. “You’ll get more than your hands soon enough. I’ll fuck your mouth until your jaw aches, then I’ll bend you over and drive into you so deep you’ll forget your own name. You’ll take every inch, every drop, until you can’t walk.”
Calder shuddered at the words, a sound between a moan and a whimper breaking from him. His hips shifted, need making him restless. Without conscious thought, one hand slid from behind his back, slipping between his cheeks, a finger tracing down toward the heat of his hole.
Crale’s eyes caught the movement instantly, noting the way Calder’s pupils dilated further as that finger slid lower. He stopped stroking his own cock mid-motion, stepping forward with a predatory prowl until his shadow swallowed Calder whole. His voice boomed in the chamber. “What do you think you’re doing? Didn’t I tell you not to touch yourself?”
Calder’s head dropped, hands moving quickly to brace himself on either side, his cock giving an involuntary twitch. Crale’s command cut sharp through the heat. “Look up. Answer me properly.”
Calder’s gaze lifted slowly, catching an up-close view of the thick veins running the length of Crale’s cock. He swallowed hard, stammering out, “Yes, sir.”
Crale chuckled low, almost to himself. “What do you think your punishment should be?”
Calder’s eyes dipped back down, locking on the bead of pre-cum swelling at the slit. Another swallow, another slow lick of his lips, the unspoken plea to taste hanging in the air—but no answer came, as if the ability to speak had fled him entirely.
“I asked you a question, boy,” Crale boomed again, the sound cracking like a whip in the chamber. Calder’s focus snapped back up to his face, catching what looked like flames dancing behind that controlled stare. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out.
Crale studied him for a long, heavy moment before settling back onto the low couch. “Fine. Since you won’t answer, I have the perfect idea.” His voice was pure authority. “Stand. Come lay across my lap.”
Calder moved instantly, springing to his feet and almost throwing himself across Crale’s thighs, stomach pressing to his knees, ass high and bared. Crale’s hard cock dug into Calder’s abdomen, while Calder’s own length pressed against Crale’s leg, leaking freely.
One of Crale’s hands slid around the back of Calder’s neck, holding him firmly in place, while the other splayed across the middle of his back, pressing down before gliding lower. His palm cupped one of Calder’s ass cheeks, fingers spreading the flesh as his thumb slid between, pressing against the twitching pucker. A shudder ran through Calder, a moan spilling from his lips. Crale kneaded the cheek slowly, leaning in with a growl of dirty promise that made Calder’s moans rise in pitch. His thumb pressed more firmly against the tight ring while his grip worked the flesh in his palm. “This ass…” he murmured darkly, “is mine to open, mine to ruin, mine to keep begging.” On that final word, he raised his hand and brought it down in a sharp slap, the sound echoing in the chamber. He didn’t remove his palm, feeling the heat bloom under the skin where he’d struck.
Calder cried out, hips jerking, a small struggle in his movements as more pre-cum spilled freely from his cock, wetting Crale’s thigh.
Crale’s voice dropped into a low, taunting rumble. “You’re so depraved, leaking all over my leg like this. Tell me—do you like it rough?” He punctuated the question with another hard slap to Calder’s ass, the crack of it sharp in the air. Calder moaned loudly, the sound breaking into a husky, desperate, “Please, sir…”—half plea, half invitation, as if begging for the next strike.
Crale let his hand rest, the heat under his palm radiating into his skin. “Every sound you make just tells me how much you want this,” he murmured, letting his fingers drag lightly along the curve of Calder’s ass. “You beg so well, boy… but you don’t get to choose when I give you what you want.”
His hand lifted slowly—deliberately—so Calder felt the absence of contact, his muscles tensing in readiness. Then the slap came down, hard, the force rocking Calder forward on Crale’s lap. Calder’s breath hitched into a sharp cry, followed by a whimper that melted into a needy moan.
“You feel that?” Crale’s tone was almost conversational, but the authority in it left no doubt it was an order. “Answer me.”
“Yes… sir…” Calder’s voice was ragged, his body shivering under Crale’s grip.
Another pause. Another slow lift of the hand. Calder’s breathing turned erratic, his hips twitching with the urge to grind against Crale’s thigh. The next strike landed lower, catching the curve where cheek met thigh, sending a jolt straight through him.
“Good boy,” Crale growled. “You’re going to take every one I give you… and you’re going to thank me for each.”
He delivered the next blow harder, then smoothed his palm over the reddening skin, pressing down firmly so Calder could feel just how much he was in Crale’s control. Calder’s cock leaked freely now, a warm slick trail marking Crale’s leg.
“Count the next five, boy,” Crale ordered, voice low and commanding. “And don’t lose your number… or we start again.”
“One…” Calder gasped as the first slap landed, the sting blooming under Crale’s palm. He tried to steady his voice but it wavered with the moan that followed.
The second strike came sharper, forcing his breath out in a hiss. “Two…” His hips jerked involuntarily, the ache between his legs growing heavier.
“Three…” The third blow left him shuddering, a groan tangled with the number as his hole clenched under the lingering press of Crale’s thumb.
By “Four…” his voice cracked, the word almost lost in a moan that made Crale’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk.
“Five…” The final slap landed with deliberate force, and Calder’s body sagged forward in Crale’s lap, breath ragged, cock dripping onto the older man’s thigh.
Crale’s hand stayed on him, kneading the heated flesh. “That’s my good boy. Now… I think you’ve earned the next part.”
Without warning, his other hand spread Calder’s cheeks wide, exposing the tight, twitching pucker to the cool air and his hot stare. “Look at you,” Crale taunted, voice low and filthy. “Clenching like you’ve been waiting for me all night.” He let his thumb press firmly against the center, feeling the muscle give slightly under the pressure.
Calder moaned, the sound breaking and spilling into a whimper. His hips rolled instinctively, chasing the pressure.
“Spread for me, boy,” Crale commanded, using both hands now to part the firm mounds, his thumbs gliding along the seam before one circled the ring in slow, deliberate passes. “You’re open for me… and you’re going to take what I give you.”
He pushed just enough for Calder to feel the breach, not enough to enter, holding him there with cruel patience. “Beg for it,” Crale murmured. “Beg for my fingers inside you while I spank you raw.”
Calder’s moans grew louder, his voice hoarse. “Please… please, sir—”
Crale cut him off with another sharp slap to his reddened cheek, his thumb never leaving its place. “That’s it. Cry for it while I work you open.”
He alternated between kneading the flesh, spreading him wide, and delivering firm, stinging swats that made Calder jolt and press back against his probing thumb. “You feel how wet you are for me already? You filthy little thing.”
Calder’s body quivered, every breath shallow and fast, his cock dripping in steady trails onto Crale’s thigh as the older man kept him trapped between pain, pressure, and unbearable want.