Fuck him
for being so damn beautiful the moment before I was going to kill him.
I approached him slowly, carefully, like a lion would approach a brave gazelle. He was shorter than me, and for once, he felt like it. Even though he stared at me with his unapproachable eyes, I felt so much bigger than him, so much stronger, and I was going to make him feel it.
“Tell me it’s not true, Carver,” I said low, deep, still inching closer to him.
He didn’t say anything in response, but he held his ground. I came right up to him and let all the rage I felt display on my face for him to see. My wider chest pressed firmly against his.
“Tell me it’s not fucking true,” I said even lower this time, slow and careful.
Nothing.
Quicker than I knew possible, I pressed my hands flat against his chest and shoved him. He stumbled backward and his back slammed against the bedroom wall. His eyes stayed locked on mine as I came up to him and squeezed myself even tighter against him, surrounding him, engulfing him, daring him to try to make a move.
I leaned in close and whispered in his ear. “Tell me, Carver. Just fucking say it.”
It sounded like a plea, hysterical and desperate. My voice was shaking along with my hands. I didn’t trust myself in that moment. If Carver told me he was responsible for sending Bruno to the Bazaar, I wasn’t sure what I was capable of.
But Carver, true to form, didn’t say a thing. That spoke louder than words.
I felt higher than any drug had ever taken me, completely blind with rage and adrenaline. Only Carver could do this to me. Only Carver could make my blood boil, or my bones ache, or send me into a wild frenzy halfway between murder and sexual release.
I grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around, pressing his chest flat against the wall with my palm between his shoulder blades. With steadier hands than I thought I had, I removed my Tsutari from my holster on my hip. I pressed the barrel of the gun to the back of Carver’s head, letting him feel the pressure of the muzzle through his hair. Still, he didn’t say anything. I ran the tip down the back of his neck, slowly, as my free, gloved hand reached around to his front and started undoing the tie on the front of his sweatpants.
“Jones,” he said, stern, unafraid, but with more than a hint of warning.
I shoved my knee between his legs and kicked out his feet, spreading his thighs. The barrel of my gun continued to run down his body, past his shoulder blades, following the indent of his spine. His skin was so perfect and tantalizing, being lit by the few small lights in the room, casting pale colors across the width of his shoulders.
“Jones,” Carver warned me again. My rage-fueled mind didn’t even waver. I continued to use the gun to slide his underwear down to where his sweatpants were, exposing him to me as I kept his chest pressed flat against the wall.
I leaned down close, putting my lips next to Carver’s ear.
“Order me to stop, Carver. Just say the word.” The muzzle of the gun slid between his cheeks.
I watched him the entire time. He didn’t say anything; his lips didn’t even twitch. He just stared at me with those empty eyes when I moved close enough for him to see, but didn’t say a word.
“Tell me to stop,” I told him one last time, quietly, almost begging him.
He said nothing. I didn’t think he would.
Carver was so beautiful, so flawed, and so immensely fucked-up.
His head was turned to the side, watching me, so I withdrew my gun and pressed the end against his lips. It belonged there, the cold, lustrous metal right up against his soft, full lips.
“Open up,” I told him. “And make it good.”
Again with another press, he opened his lips and took the length of my Tsutari into his mouth. Watching him that closely, his mouth was something out of a porn flick, or my wildest fantasy. His rosy lips sheathed my gun so perfectly as I watched his smooth tongue flick out on occasion past his lips, against the barrel. I pulled the Tsutari out slowly, barely able to contain moaning at the sight of his spit coating the barrel of the gun and running down his chin.
I kept moving the gun inside of Carver’s wanton mouth while I used my other hand to undo the zipper on my pants and pull out my dick. It was painfully hard, swollen, with a few liquid beads smeared around the tiny slit.
My fingers wrapped easily around Carver’s pretty neck, so I allowed myself to bask in the fantasy of what this really was. I let my fingers squeeze a bit as the sleek gun passed in and out of his lips, watching his Adam’s apple bob every time he swallowed.
I pulled the gun from Carver’s mouth and ran it against his cheek. He ignored the gun the entire time, eyes focused on me. He could be such a good boy when he wanted to.
The gun traveled down his body, and I used one of my hands to pull his ass cheek to the side. I ran the Tsutari along his lower back, slowly running against the cleft of his ass before stopping the head of the gun against his small pink hole. I kept the gun there, carefully applying pressure, watching his muscles contract against the cool touch. When I pushed the tip in past his clenched hole, I heard his breath catch. He dropped his forehead against the wall and braced himself with both of his palms pressed flat near his chest.
The burn must’ve hurt him, because I wasn’t gentle. I kept sliding the barrel in past the small, puckered hole, relishing the sight of my gun entering Carver’s body so intrusively. I could feel the strong resistance of his body against my gun, trying to keep it out. He let out a quiet, jagged breath, but I didn’t stop shoving, pressing the gun deeper and deeper inside him. Carver was so tight, almost impossibly so, and I wondered if he’d ever been taken before. Likely not. His ring squeezed against the polished metal even as I pulled it out and thrust it back in harshly. I kept using him like that, fucking him with my gun while I allowed the gloved fingers of my other hand to grab his hip and squeeze him with enough force to bruise.
Carver was still stern, but less composed than usual. He was trying to hold himself together against the hurt and pleasure I was tormenting him with. And when he cringed, when I knew he was feeling the sting and the pain of my gun pressing deep into him, I fell in love. I fell in love with the look on his face and with the sick lust I was feeling just from hurting him.
I yanked the gun out and tossed it to the ground. Working on instinct, I shifted my knee to spread him wider for me. I grabbed a handful of his gorgeous blue hair and took the base of my cock in my hand to move it to Carver’s reddened entrance. It was going to hurt him. I was much thicker and longer than my Tsutari had been, and if it had stung him, this was going to be painful.
The precum at the tip of my dick and the leftover saliva were the only sources of lubrication between us. I shoved deep inside him in one forceful thrust. Carver cried out, and I relished the sound. I contracted my fingers tighter in his hair and grabbed his hip to keep him steady.
From there, I slammed into him. I treated him cruelly, using him roughly and not giving a fuck if I left marks. The invisible marks he’d left on me were still worse. I was engulfing his body with mine, pressing against him, holding him still. We were both breathing heavily, but every few seconds Carver would let a noise slip past his lips that was a mixture of a cry and a moan, and the mere sound of it kept my anger fueled.
I leaned in to him between thrusts and licked the back of his ear.
“One day, Carver,” I said as a promise to him with naked rage. “One day someone’s going to hurt you so much worse than you’ve ever hurt me.”
At that, he turned his head to the side, his gaze meeting my own. His forehead was slick with sweat, his soft hair sticking to his face as tiny beads rolled down his chin. I saw a flicker of something close to emotion in his eyes as he watched me, still letting small moaning sounds slip gently past his lips.
I released his hair and hip to reach down to wrap my strong fingers around his wrists and lift his arms high over his head. I held his wrists against the cool wall in his room, fucking him like this revenge was all I had.
I buried my face deep in his blue hair, inhaling his scent of sweat and soap. I felt too full, close to bursting. He was so taut, so small, and so warm, my dick was being milked by him harder than I’d ever felt before. Restraining myself from moaning and grunting was next to impossible, especially when Carver pushed his ass back to press against me.
That was how I came, pounding brutally into him, using him the ways I was hoping would hurt him most. The moment I felt my dick begin to throb, I grabbed his wrists like they were my lifelines and shoved myself in deep. Carver cried out quietly as he squeezed his eyes shut and came with me, shooting streams of cum against the bedroom wall.
My forehead rested against his damp shoulder as we panted together, trying to recover from whatever this was. I didn’t allow myself the pain of acknowledging how perfectly his smaller body fit into mine, and how right the feeling of his skin against mine was.
I pulled away from him and shoved my softening dick back into my pants. Carver turned slightly, leaning his hip against the wall with his head hanging low. He was still breathing more heavily than me, and his muscular legs were trembling like they wanted to give out. His pale eyes turned to mine, and for a moment I thought he wanted to say something. I stared right back at him, us both knowing he wouldn’t.
I took my discarded gun and placed it back in its holster. Without a second glance at Carver, the fucked-up man I couldn’t get out of my system, I left his room in silence.
Chapter Seven
Even as I sat there, staring at the floor, I knew Corp was on the other side of the glass, watching me. He’d come in to talk to me earlier, to suggest I receive another visit from the woman doctor I’d seen before, but I’d declined. I didn’t think anything she could say to me from this point on was going to fix all the things wrong with me.
I’d been sitting in an isolation room for two days, and Corp was pissed that I was missing out on training. My mind kept wandering back to my lost friend, desperately trying to conjure up ways to get him out of the Bazaar, even though I knew it was next to impossible. And past that I kept dreaming about Carver, wondering what he smelled like fresh out of a shower, or how he’d look if he ever smiled at me. If he ever smiled at all.
My head wasn’t on straight, and I could feel it in every pore on my body. The things I wanted, the person I wanted, I couldn’t have the
way
I wanted. I was angry at myself for wanting Carver still, after what he’d subjected Bruno to. Bruno was my best friend, and he knew it. Bruno was a good man, and Carver had known him for years, since we were still trainees in our teens. But in the same breath, I couldn’t continue to hate Carver for something that Bruno had done to himself. I knew he’d been asking for trouble, hacking into those classified files, but I didn’t think that he’d ever be accused of terrorism. Maybe Bruno had stumbled upon something big, something big enough that ENAD had to get rid of Bruno before he told anyone else. I let my mind wander like this for hours on end, trying to figure out why life had played itself out this way.
I was sitting on the ground, my back leaning against the wall, when the door slid open. Carver walked in and somehow I wasn’t surprised.
“Are you done yet?” he asked me simply. I wanted to punch him. He was the only one who could treat someone like me as a child and get away with it.
He was wearing his normal training gear, but sported a few new marks. There was slightly yellowing bruise around his neck in the shape of fingerprints, as well as a reddened cheek with a few scratches from where he’d been pressed against the wall. I wondered if he had marks or bruises other places. I wanted him to show me. I wanted him to stand in front of me in that tiny isolation room and strip out of each piece of gear he was wearing, watching me the entire time. I wanted him to run his own fingertips over his hard body as he stripped for me, touching himself all over the places he wanted me to be touching him. I wanted him to bend over and show me where I’d hurt him so I could kiss each mark until it was completely healed and pet him until he forgave me enough to let me do it again.
“Jones,” Carver said, snapping me out of my fantasy.
I was sitting on the floor, wearing only a thin pair of sweatpants, one leg stretched out straight and the other knee bent. He watched me as I ran my gaze down his body, remembering how he got those bruises around his neck. My dick was already half-hard thinking about it and rising more by the second.
Carver’s gaze caught on the tent in my pants I was blatantly displaying for him. If I hadn’t been watching his face so closely, I would’ve missed it, but for the barest of seconds as Carver looked at my obviously swollen cock, he bit the corner of his lip.
I shot up instantly and stalked toward him with every intention of pressing him against the two-way mirror, ripping each piece of his clothing off, and fucking him with his legs wrapped around my waist.
Carver must’ve known exactly what I had in mind, because he stretched his arm out to place a firm palm between my pecs to stop me.
“I’m here to inform you of our upcoming mission, soldier,” he said carefully.
I continued to stare at the marks on his neck. I was hungry, so hungry. The life I’d led had been of modest means up until that point, but once I’d had my taste of Carver, I wanted more. I was an addict, completely obsessed with the worst possible thing for me, not giving a fuck even if it broke me in the end.
Surprisingly gently, Carver shoved me backward.
“We have a mission coming up in a week. An important one. You need to get out of here and start training, because this mission is going to be taxing. I’ll brief you on it later,” Carver said.
“I told Corp I held a gun to your head.”
“I know.”
“That requires a minimum of ten days in isolation for threatening your superior.”
“I don’t have time for this, Jones. Suit up and meet the rest of the team in the training room,” he said as he began walking out of the door.