Domesticated, Ch 08 (Patreon)

The buzz of the phone, in conjunction with the screen coming on to show the approaching car in the alley, warns me of Alex’s arrival. I don’t hear or feel the back garage door open; there is too much concrete on the structure for the vibrations to travel. His text message saying, ‘they jumped me’, is the only warning I got he’d be getting home late.

I reach the ground floor as he slams the door shut and stumps in my direction. I am surprised at the anger radiating off him. It was just members of a gang, no one that should cause him problems. And there is no indication he was injured.

“We’re going to have to clean up a body,” he snaps as he walks by me and into the kitchen.

“Where did it happen?” Killing one of them will complicate things unless we can misdirect culpability.

“At my fucking job. Can you fucking believe it? One of them fucking worked out where I work.”

“It isn’t that surprising.” How many witnesses? That Alex is home means the authorities aren’t considering him guilty of more than self defense, but—

“What do you mean? It’s not surprising?” He slams the cup into the coffee maker hard enough it hits the backsplash. “I swear, if this is some plan of yours you didn’t tell me about, I am going to hack into your accounts and clean out whatever money that would be hacker hid for you.”

Boxes flash and shudder as he directs his anger at me. I get them under control, still not understanding his reaction. “I warned you that me giving them a beating would likely lead to them trying to hurt you and Emil in reprisal.”

He looks at me, mouth open, anger replaced by confusion. His eyes flick back and forth, then widen. “You think I mean those kids?” Disbelief in his tone.

“Who else would I mean?”

He searches my face. “So you didn’t let where I work float out there so someone from the Mexico connection would find out and make a move in the hopes you’d be able to trace that back to their boss?”

“That would put this in danger,” I motion around us, and stop as the implications hit and boxes explode. I don’t immediately understand the emotion as my chest contracts; I’m busy with damage control. Then I understand it and I end that chain reaction before anything more can happen.

Pain. Emotional pain.

Hurt that Alex things I would ever do anything again that might endanger what we have. That I would purposely put him at risk. And anger that he doesn’t appreciate everything I’m sacrificing for him and Emil.

“You didn’t.” No doubt anymore. Speculation. He reaches back for the cup and drinks from it while thinking. I bring order back to the boxes. “Then, if he relayed what he found at any point before I killed him, we could have problems.”

“I need details, Alex. You implied Mexico.”

He nods. “Thug in an expensive suit. Took a shot at me as I finished with the kids.”

“So they aren’t who you killed?”

“Come on, what could they do that would make me lose it like that? The most annoying thing that happened in that entire fight was Joel showing up, thinking I needed help.”

“Who is that?”

“The front desk guard. The upside of him being there is that I got him to take the credit so everyone who saw the leftovers as they left work, don’t know I’m deadly with more than my code.”

“And what led to you having to kill the thug?”

“Not being armed, having to fight behind his car so we wouldn’t attract attention, him being above average.” He sighs. “And him carrying a knife. In my defense, I was able to let go of it and not go on a rampage in the parking lot. But that was after I planted it in his heart. I really wanted to question him, too.” He drinks. “So thank you for that training. You were right. It does help.” His tone says he doesn’t expect it to be more than what he was able to do this time, but the acknowledgment means he’ll be less combative in the future.

“Where is the body?” I need to find out what Asyr did not inform me of this.

“In his car. We can see if the GPS had anything. His phone was a burner with nothing on it, but one of the thing I’m going to do once I’m downstairs is go through it wafer by wafer in case who they have providing it missed something.”

“Alex—”

“Don’t.” Warning in his tone, anger. “I need to fucking do something. They might know where I work, which means they could know my name, and this place, and you, and Emil. Don’t fucking tell me to calm down and wait.”

“Are you hurt?” I finish once his rant is over.

He snorts, then sips his coffee. “I’m sore. I’ll have bruises. But it’s nothing you don’t give me daily.”

I’m before him, before the motion registers. He looks up at me and raises an eyebrow as he drinks. The boxes take time to bring under control. This isn’t chaos, but a chain reaction I’m growing used to. Worry. I know Alex is deadly. That the odds of anyone getting the better of him in a fight are low enough not to be worth calculating, and yet I worry.

Old warning about emotional attachments I hadn’t thought about, come back to me. My father, claiming to prepare me for my future. I dismiss them the way I always do, but this time it isn’t because I think I’m incapable of them, but because I don’t believe the warning is true. My attachment to Alex and Emil might complicate my life, but they do not make me weaker.

I kiss him when he moves the cup away. Taste the coffee that to so much him I know I’ll never get him to stop entirely. I don’t want him to stop, just take control of his addiction; instead of letting it control him. The kiss is tender. Not an assertion of my power over him, but a drinking in that he is still there.

He gets over the surprise, and then both his arms are around my neck. A second later, the cup shatters on the floor.

His lips part and my tongue enters, explores his teeth, palate, tongue. It all tastes so much of him. Then he presses against my lips hard and his tongue invades my mouth, darts about, trying to ignite a fire in me.

I don’t let his action trigger me. This might not be about me asserting my control, but it is not about letting him have it. When it registers, he relaxes, slows, falls back to my rhythm.

I rub his back as my tongue return to his mouth, and tasting him. When I reach his lower back, I pull the shirt out and rest my hands against his scarred flesh.

The moan that travels up my throat is unexpected, boxes reacting again to the proof of Alex’s hard life.

He lets go of me to unbutton it, then throws it away. His hands press against my chest, flesh to flesh, before sliding to the side and back. His reaction to my scars is a shudder. They mark me as dangerous in his mind and he loves that.

I break the kiss, and before he protests, I lick the side of his neck, over the bruises and bit mark shape scars. There is salt and grime, but it is still all him. He tastes of the life he lives, the city, the violence.

I have to control the boxes; the need that builds. 

He moans as I lick to the front of his throat, then between his pecs.

I undo his belt. He lets go of me again, then his ass lifts off the counter, and I pull them down. His hand return to my back, nails scraping along.

The smell is more intense now.

Him, carried on the sweat that accumulated over the day, over the time of his fight, of winning, of surviving. Of coming back to me.

I don’t tease him, I can’t.

This time, I need it more than he does.

He is still the one who groans and the head of his cock passes my lips; more saltiness mixed with bitterness. Heat, strength, passion. I only stop once my nose is burring in his pubes and he is all I smell. I control the gag reflex the way I do everything about me and stay there as he scrapes my scalp.

In this moment, I contemplate staying there until there is nothing left. Ensuring there are no chances I will ever not be able to take him in so entirely. But that is selfish. It would mean Emil no longer has me in his life. That Alex has to go on without me.

That I give up living.

The moment passes and I move up, taking in deep breaths filled with him. Then I am moving down again, his cock stretching my throat and up. I massage his balls as I suck him off. I pause only long enough to wet my middle finger, then I’m sucking his cock back in. The finger goes between his legs. He scoots forward and his cock thrust deeper. My slick finger is between his cheeks, then pressing against his hole.

He thrusts as I push it in, his hands on my head, holding me in place as he fucks my mouth, his ass moving on my finger. I curl it, press against his prostate and he lets out curses; fucks my mouth harder.

Then he tries to shove his cock deep, but I don’t let him. This is as far as I grant him control. I get what is coming the way I want it. His cock tenses and pulses. He groans. And then I taste him again.

His cum fills my mouth. Bitter, acrid, salty.

Wonderful. 

He is with me. He came back to me. I will never let him go. I will destroy any who contemplate hurting him. Taking away what we are building.

I love him.

The way the boxes light up surprises me each time. A cacophony of lights and shudders, echoes of that first explosion that changed everything. It is overwhelming, and forcing myself to regain control is difficult.

But this I can not allow to rampage unchecked.

My love for him, uncontrolled, will destroy him.

I will hold that back for as long as I can.

When I finally swallow, I look up at him, suckling his is softening cock. He looks down at me, smiling. The pull is almost unnoticeable, but his hands tighten before he controls himself; remembers I am in charge. I stand and kiss him, a hand at the back of his head, the other at his lower back, pushing him more over the edge of the counter.

His legs are around my waist as my cock slips between his cheeks. Spit isn’t the best of lube, but I don’t care. I tasted him. Now I want to feel him around me.

His cry as I push inside him is equal part pain and pleasure, and I shove harder in response. I pull out and thrust. He cries and whimper in the kiss. After half a dozen, there is less resistance, and the whimpering grows needy. 

I don’t make him wait. I fuck him hard, mashing his lips with mine. Claiming him, since I confirmed he is alive. He tightens his ass around my thrusting cock and I growl. He tries to move away, and I hold his head in place. I’m not listening to smart Alex remarks. I am fucking him, and unless it’s to moan, he will be quiet.

I slam my cock in, and he groans as I cum.

I hold him; he holds me.

When I loosen my hold, he pulls away and smiles. “So, I take it I should get attacked more often?”