Chapter 418: Only Him.

Chapter 418: Chapter 418: Only Him.

He feels incredible. Looks incredible.

​Is .

​" You’re so fucking gorgeous ," he whispers breathlessly, and then digs his nails into the skin of Khobi’s stomach as he abruptly clenches around him.

Fuck . "...You gonna ride me tonight, Khobi?"

​Khobi doesn’t answer him. He just wets his lips and starts grinding ; a deep, slow drag that has them both writhing.

The view is as intense as the heat encasing him; Khobi striking up a steady, heavy beat on his cock, hands braced into the headboard above him and body strung taut with the strain of keeping himself in check.

Gods, it’s so obvious he wants to let loose, and when Loac drives his hips up, his cock deeper, the unwavering sway of his hips gathers an insistence that he recognises from the nights they’ve spent together.

​More

​" Harder ."

​Gazing up at him in the evening sun Loac complies, hands digging into Khobi’s powerful thighs as he snaps his hips up into him.

Khobi groans, breath stuttering out of time with the heavy slap against his ass as he slides home; clenching wildly, impossibly tight around him.

Both flushed red from neck to navel, they move together as they’ve moved together countless times already; sweat beading on their skin and pleasure building where their bodies meet.

And when Loac plants his feet and cants his hips; switching abruptly to the angle where his cock drags against the spot inside Khobi that makes him keen his name, the little sounds bursting through his lips transform from gasps, to building, uncontainable moans.

​Desperate for more; to take him harder, deeper, Khobi’s hands leave the headboard and instead find purchase on Loac’s chest as they rock into a frenzy. And with his nails scrabbling against his skin, he flings his head back to the sky and gives over to the pleasure mounting within him.

​He’s the most breathtaking thing Loac has ever seen.

​And tonight he’s all his.

​(He wants to hear him.)

​The windows are open. It’s a still night so they’ll probably hear.

​But Loac doesn’t care. He wants the world to know that Khobi’s his. That no one else can have him.

​" Kiss me ."

​It’s meant to come out as a demand but it feels more like a plea.

The agonised whisper of a man who can’t take it anymore.

​For once, Khobi does as he’s bid without question, swooping in as Loac surges up.

Their mouths meet in the middle, deep and wrought with a passion that leaves them both panting and pawing at each other as they move.

Loac’s hands find Khobi’s hips, and Khobi’s get lost in his hair, against the wall, amongst the bedsheets as the bed strikes up a familiar beat against the wall; a heavy, quaking thud keeping time with the heavy, spiralling tempo of their bodies colliding.

​And then in a moment of passion Loac seizes him in his arms and flips their positions; pinning him to the bed with their chests aligned, and Khobi laid spread beneath him.

​"...Held out longer than I thought you would," Khobi pants when they break for air, not yet so breathless that he’s incapable of sounding smug. Loac intends to change that.

​But first, because Khobi started this –because he was the one who wanted it slow tonight –he abruptly stills; his forehead pressed flush against Khobi’s chest.

In the stillness comes a silence, broken only by the fractured stutters spilling from their lungs, and for a moment there Loac just breathes. Just feels.

The steady rise and fall of Khobi’s chest; the racing drum of his heartbeat. The warmth of his skin, his shape, and the tightness swallowing him up; clenching, squeezing, drawing him in like Khobi’s body can’t bear to be parted from him.

​(Loac can’t bear the thought either.)

​His skin tastes salty. Loac kisses it anyway; lips pressing firm and yearning against his sternum to keep what he’s feeling inside from spilling from his lips.

He knows what the whispers say about him. What he’s supposedly doing and with how many different people.

But what they don’t know is that it’s only Khobi.

That since that first, storming night here there’s been no one else. Khobi has to hear what they say, too, but he still comes to bed with him, like he knows it isn’t true or doesn’t care if it is.

​"...Better not be falling asleep down there," Khobi jibes again on a whisper, nails lightly digging into his shoulderblades to remind him that he’s still there and he’s still waiting, and he’s ready for him.

Dark eyes sparking with blue snap up to lock with his.

And right on cue Loac snaps his hips; deep and rough, and as Khobi’s hands slap down against the bed, clenching and twisting in the bedsheets, he feels the breath shoot out of Khobi’s lungs.

​" Loac , fuck," he groans, his voice pitching high, and another –harder –thrust has him throwing his head back.

The bed slams against the wall –heavier, this time –and then again, over and over;

keeping time as their voices rise ever louder. ℯℯ𝘭.

​" – That’s it ," Loac urges, sweat dewing on his skin and his voice worked ragged as his hips beat relentless against Khobi’s ass; his cock completely buried within him yet somehow still not close enough. Not deep enough. Not enough.

And from the desperate way Khobi grabs at him; legs locked tight around his body, it’s like it’s the same for him.

​More.

​Always more.

​Loac’s teeth find purpose on his skin. He’s not sure where exactly –it doesn’t matter. He’ll work marks wherever he can find; wherever Khobi will let him.

​How does he do this to him? How .

​Let me hear you.

​Like a man possessed, he braces one arm over Khobi’s head and hauls him up into his body with the other – gods how does he fit so well, so perfect, always matching him wherever it is they meet; blow for blow, thrust for thrust. The new angle is perfect to in press in hard and deep, and then deeper until Khobi’s eyes are rolling back in his head, and when Loac works his cock against the spot he likes he gets him gasping and shaking, and cursing him and saying everything except the one thing Loac wants to hear.

​My name.

​Say it.

​"Lo ac ."

​Loac’s nails clench in Khobi’s skin and make him hiss.

​Because those are the fractured syllables of the name he inherited from his father.

He wants to bite back that that’s not right; that Khobi knows his name, why won’t he just say it? But he can’t, because then he’ll know, and he’s not ready for that; not ready to risk losing this... whatever it is they have if Khobi doesn’t feel the same way.

​Khobi’s lips find his again; hot and damp and full of want.

That’s good; that’s perfect, and Loac lets his tongue lap away the words he might’ve said; the name he might have accidentally let slip in a moment of weakness.

And with his arms looped tight around his neck; drawing him in, holding him firm and flush and like any shred of space left between them is too much, K hobi presses their foreheads together, eyes hooded and glassy with pleasure, but no less searching.

​Gods, how had there ever been a moment when Loac didn’t know? The red he finds there when their eyes meet is positively piercing; their heat blinding, and all he wants is for those eyes to look at him and only him.