Deacon

Sweat glistened against the blue-black Army Rangers insignia inked into Deacon's left forearm. I studied the intricate scrolling of the cursive font, trying to decipher the curly letters as he plowed me from behind.

My jeans and boxers were pooled around my ankles, effectively hobbling me. Deacon had one hand on the back of my neck to hold me down against the table, and the other planted a few inches from my face. Hence the study of his ink.

He wiped his forehead with his arm and returned it to the table, continuing to fuck into my ass with slow, languid strokes.

"Maybe next I tell you to do something, you'll. Fucking. Do. It." He punctuated each word with a harsh thrust.

I grunted against each heavy snap of his pelvis into mine, knowing it wasn't likely. We'd been traveling together for over a month now, and our entire relationship went like this: Deacon told me to do something I didn't want to do, and I told him to fuck off. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes Deacon took offense. Like now.

I couldn't voice my dissent, though. Deacon could drag a fuck out for an obscene amount of time if he wanted to. He'd already made it clear I wasn't going to come as a punishment for my transgressions, real or otherwise. Hence, there was no sense in prolonging it when I was hard, leaking, and dying for release.

He continued his lecture, occasionally emphasizing certain points with sharp thrusts. I tuned him out, trying to focus on anything but the insistent ache of being so close to coming yet unable to tip over the edge.

The hand by my face disappeared, and a painful slap lit up my ass. "Are you even listening to me?"

"No," I shot back, irritated by both his superiority complex and the sudden pain. He started raining blows in quick succession until I hissed out a half-hearted retraction.

"Listen, you little shit," Deacon said, pausing in his thrusts to give the back of my neck a hard squeeze. "I need you to trust that I have your best interest in mind. So when I tell you to do something, you do it. Capisce?"

He let go of my neck and dug his fingers into my hips. I tensed, bracing my arms along the edge of the table.

Deacon really started railing me, then. He drove into me hard enough that my toes jolted off the ground with each slam of his hips.

I couldn't stop the series of pathetic moans that burst from my throat with each roll of his hips. Heat pulsed through my body in a slow waves, but it still wasn't enough to take me over the edge.

My dick twitched and jumped as he nailed that perfect spot inside me every fucking time. It was torture, unlike anything I'd ever felt before meeting Deacon.

"P...please," I gasped out, unable to snatch the word back before it escaped.

Deacon stilled, gasping heavy puffs of air against the sweat on my back. "What was that?" He sounded interested and far too pleased.

I clamped my jaw shut, too proud to beg.

After a moment, Deacon started up again, grinding harder against my prostate with each thrust if that was even possible. He was getting close, finishing at an unsustainable pace.

He rammed in twice more and stilled, his cock throbbing and spurting inside me.

With a groan, I reached down, trying to sneak some kind of relief of my own. Deacon caught my wrist and slapped my hand back against the table.

"Nope," he said, between pants. "Poor choices don't get rewarded."

I pressed my forehead against the table and tried not to whine.

Only when I'd lost my erection did Deacon let me go. The cleanup didn't take more than a few minutes, and Deacon had the map out again by the time I pulled my jeans back up.

"Here's our goal," he said, tapping the worn paper.

I already knew it. I'd memorized our route this morning when we'd set out. But Deacon liked to be prepared. We'd been separated before when splitting up to hunt or by scavengers. We always found each other though, because Deacon repeatedly did things like this.

We ate dinner as we walked, the trek south uneventful. Before it got too dark to continue, we scoped out a cluster of houses before choosing one to spend the night in.

I crashed down on the bed, too tired to even think. Deacon settled behind me, pulling me against his heat. I didn't love the constant touching, though it sure beat sleeping alone as the nights got colder.

Besides, I'd never slept so well in my life as when Deacon was with me, but I couldn't rightly explain it.

Wandering hands woke me in the morning. I scrubbed at my eyes, barely awake and already hard.

I grumbled and wriggled away from the wall of heat behind me. "No."

But the word "no" wasn't even part of Deacon's vocabulary.

He dragged me back, pressing a kiss against my jaw. "Yes," he said, hands already sliding down to work my jeans off.

"I don't want to," I said mulishly. "I'm sore. From yesterday."

He went still. A long moment later, he pinched the back of my thigh sharply.

I jerked away, scowling. "Ow! What was that for?"

"You know I can always tell when you're lying."

"Cannot."

Another pinch, this one to my ass. He pushed me onto my back and rolled on top, having finally succeeded in kicking my clothes to the bottom of the bed. "Can too. And just for that, you get a special surprise."

I glowered up at him. "Great. Can't wait."

"Smart ass." He grabbed the lube from the bedside table, clicked open the cap, and disappeared under the blankets.

A warm hand nudged my thigh up and to the side. I yelped as cold gel met my asshole.

"Can't be helped," Deacon said with what was almost laughter in his muffled voice as he plunged two fingers into me.

He eased them in and out, and the coldness of the gel faded as he worked me open. I grunted, unable to keep from bucking my hips a little.

He let out a laugh, shoving his fingers in and curling them. I arched off the bed with a harsh cry, and his fingers followed, rubbing relentlessly at my prostate.

"What was it you said yesterday?" he teased. "Something that started with a P?"

I gasped, riding out the heat burgeoning through me. I wouldn't beg. I wouldn't.

Deacon relented soon enough in favor of adding a third finger. He stretched and worked me until I was a gasping mess. I knew if I looked at him, I'd find him watching my face. Deacon had a thing about eye contact, but I couldn't stand it.

His fingers pulled free, the slight burn relenting. I knew it wouldn't last.

Slicking up his cock, Deacon nudged into me with a soft exhale. "God you feel good," he said, running his thumb over my hole, already stretched tight around him.

He didn't thrust so much as wiggle his hips, letting me adjust. Eventually, his hands gripped my hips, and we were rolling.

He maneuvered me up on top, spreading my legs wider until I bottomed out on him.

My jaw dropped, and I struggled to breathe for a moment, feeling entirely too full.

Deacon again gave me time to adjust, tucking his arms behind his head and grinning lazily up at me.

When I didn't move, he rolled his hips until I hissed and grabbed the bed to stabilize myself.

"Well?" he prompted. "It's all you."

The idea was a novelty. Deacon was in control, always. Not me.

I rocked my hips experimentally, sparking pleasure. I did it again, grinding back against Deacon's cock. It felt good--the stretch, the pressure. I undulated my hips, shoving off Deacon's length only to slide back down it.

And he let me.

He let me choose the movement, let me choose the pace. I kept at it, chasing the white-hot lightning bolts of pleasure despite the burn starting in my thighs.

It felt so damn good...until it didn't. My father's words filled my head, cold and furious and berating. They swirled like icy shards, stabbing at me until I slid to a stop. The exquisite warmth I'd built up fizzled out, leaving my muscles paralyzed as cold shame slithered down my spine.

My dick, already laughably smaller and thinner than Deacon's, went soft.

"Woah," Deacon said, curling his arms up around my thighs. Confusion wrinkled his forehead as he studied my face. "Where'd you go?"

I blinked down at him utterly motionless, listening only to the dull roar of my father's critique, before attempting a mad scramble off.

"No," he grunted, yanking me back and holding me in place through no small effort. "We're doing this."

He planted his feet flat on the bed and thrust up, pulling me down to meet him at the same time. I gasped, thrown forward and forced to steady myself as he smashed into me.

"That's right," Deacon said, slamming inside me. "You take what I give you."

My father's voice cut out until I was, once again, riding the fine line between my free will and Deacon's dominance. A few more hard strokes from Deacon, and my cock slowly plumped back up.

I could feel him watching me, but I couldn't meet his gaze. As much as I hated it, there was no way he didn't know what I needed now. He could see the evidence hardening in front of him.

It didn't take long. Deacon stopped slamming into me, instead changing the angle of his thrusts to get even deeper inside. The tightness in my balls rushed forward like a tidal wave and clashed against the fire playing along my nerves. I moaned, strung out like a wire but unable to fully snap.

The slap of our skin echoed in the room, and sweat rolled down my spine as Deacon took me again and again.

I writhed, just needing a little more to push me over the edge. The word "please" caught in my throat, but I couldn't get it out.

I opened my eyes, startled to meet the sharp hazel of Deacon's. He watched me slide onto his length, watched my leaking cock bounce with each movement. One eyebrow inched up in question. When it was clear I wouldn't do it, Deacon gave my cock a long stroke.

I lurched forward with a hoarse cry, coming apart as his fingers tipped me into a final explosion of pleasure.

Deacon's thrusts from below never faltered, but they did slow as he wrung every bit of warm cum from my dick. When I whimpered, the white-hot bliss having edged into painful overstimulation, Deacon finally left my cock alone.

I slumped over him, barely upright as my muscles twitched. Deacon held me and rolled, positioning me on my back as he partially pulled out. Lifting my leg over his shoulder for better access, he drove his hips forward again. I moaned with every sawing thrust, unable to help it as each movement sent a sharp jolt of painful pleasure through me.

Deacon grunted in time with his thrusts, face locked in utter concentration as sweat beaded his forehead. Continuing his pounding, he shifted until he was tapping the hotspot inside me every time.

"Too much," I gasped, starting to writhe.

He changed angles, driving in and out at a slower pace for a few minutes. I struggled to catch my breath, and I could tell he was getting winded too.

Still, he went at it relentlessly, pistoning in and out of me like a machine.

When he returned to his original angle, I couldn't stop the choked noises every time he sank in. It was too perfect, too much. I tried to move, but he was ready for it.

"You can take it," he said, pinning my hips down and switching to shorter, grinding thrusts. Unwanted frissons of heat curled up my spine.

I let out a whine, unable to escape the sheer amount of stimulation. "No more. I can't."

Deacon slowed until he was just rocking forward and back. For a moment, it almost looked like he was going to ease off. His mouth twitched into a grin. "One more," he said.

We both scrabbled for my cock.

Deacon's long fingers beat me to it, jacking me relentlessly. I latched my hand onto his wrist and yanked, unable to stop the movements as the sharp spikes of dry pleasure made my lungs lock up.

It hurt. God did it hurt, but the pleasure was right there too, rising at the same frantic level as the pain.

The surge of his hips matched up with his stroking hand, and I let out a continuous choked whimper, unable to do anything else. I wasn't even hard after the last one, but that didn't stop the painful bliss from convulsing through me. My mouth dropped open as I shook, though not a sound escaped as hot cum dribbled pitifully onto my stomach.

I went limp, trying to suck in a breath as my muscles turned to jelly. Deacon took advantage of my new compliance, shoving my knees painfully wide. He fucked into my twitching hole, thrusts long and lazy as if we had all the time in the world.

"Goddamn, you're tight," he murmured, grinding in. He wedged my knees up towards my head until I was nearly bent in half. His pace picked up, hips ratcheting wildly against mine.

I watched, lost in idle euphoria, as his face slowly got redder, the vein in his forehead popping out.

Finally, a low groan punched out of him, and his cock pulsed inside me, bringing his movement to a shuddering stop. His weight collapsed onto me, somehow both comforting and cloying at the same time. He dropped his head, nuzzling the sensitive skin between my neck and shoulder for a moment before biting me sharply.

I barely twitched, which made him laugh and shove off to flop beside me. He pulled me against him, wrapping me tight in his arms so my chin rested on his sweaty chest.

"And that," he said between pants, as he slapped my ass, "is how a man should wake up every day."

I was too drained to help him clean us up, and before I knew it, my eyes drifted closed.

"Up and at 'em, Ro," Deacon said softly, shaking my shoulder. I grumbled, burrowing into the warmth of my blanket cocoon.

Deacon ripped them away a second later, leaving me shocked and shivering.

"Electricity still works in this neighborhood. Go take a shower."

Shower. The magic word. I stumbled out of bed, heading for the bathroom, and damn near drowned in the bliss of hot fucking water.

Deacon came up twice to tell me to get out, the second time threatening to eat my portion of breakfast.

I toweled my hair off roughly, slipping down the stairs to see what he'd made.

He didn't jump when I appeared behind him, but it was a near enough thing. I smirked, dropping into a chair at the table and staring down at the bowl he put in front of me.

I stirred it with a spoon, eyeing it suspiciously. "This is mush," I told him.

He flicked the side of my head as he walked by, taking his empty bowl to the sink. "It's Cream of Wheat cereal, and you're going to eat it because your skinny ass needs all the calories it can get."

I grumbled and ate the tasteless mush, scarfing it down despite my protestations.

Deacon filled my bowl again, startling me. "Eat it," he called from the stove where he appeared to be boiling water.

I ate the bowl clean, though slower this time.

Deacon refreshed our water bottles once the pots of clean water on the stove had cooled.

"Let's go," Deacon said, reloading our packs. "I want to make it at least sixteen miles today."

He pulled out the map, tracing our path. When he was done, I traced it back. Deacon nodded, folding up the map with the same routine precision that he did everything else with. And off we went.

The walking was easy. Easier than when I first started with Deacon, though that was mainly because he kept me fed. I hadn't been doing so hot before him.

We walked through lunchtime, only taking a few moments to rest and drink water.

Deacon pointed out animal tracks here and there as he saw them, teaching me what they belonged to and how I would catch them.

I didn't point out that I saw more tracks than him, or that I already knew what animals had made them. Deacon's way of teaching was a lot less painful than my father's methods. And sometimes I did learn things, like how to snare a rabbit or how to spot a den.

Even with the sun, the air grew colder. A cold wind picked up, simultaneously biting at our faces and hands while also blowing clouds in front of the sun intermittently.

Deacon started sniffling more frequently than I would have liked, but even my nose was running. We'd have to find scarves or something soon.

We had about an hour of light left when we reached Shiloh. After scouting the area, we found a general deficit of intact housing, so we settled for the least drafty building we could find and set up camp in the basement.

Even blocked off from the wind howling upstairs, it was colder than balls. Deacon, always warmer than I could manage to be, pressed against me inside the sleeping bag to share his heat. I still woke often, nose and ears bitterly cold.

Deacon roused me sometime during the night, rummaging around in his pack before shoving a knit cap of some kind over my head. That helped some, but it couldn't stop the occasional shivers from wracking me.

"Too damn skinny," Deacon murmured, curling back around me.

We didn't hike far that day. The wind kept up, and it was just too hard to stay warm. Deacon kept clearing his throat like it was bothering him, and the niggling fear inside me turned into full-blown worry.

The town we scoped out next was abandoned. Fallen leaves coated every available surface, and the only disruptions to the carpet of moldy leaves were animal prints.

A blue, single-level home with intact windows and doors became our hidey hole. Deacon shook the dust off the bedspread and piled extra blankets on.

"Eat first, then take a quick nap," he said. "I'll go look around. See if I can't find us more winter gear packed away somewhere."

I wanted to argue, but I was flagging, and we both knew it. So I ate what he wanted me to and crawled into the bed. Deacon mounded the blankets over me, and I promptly fell asleep, warm for the first time that day.

When Deacon crawled in behind me, I cracked my eyes open to find the sun had already starting to set.

"Was supposed to be a quick nap," I said, scrubbing at my face and trying to sound accusatory. It mostly just came out thick and mumbled.

"I lied," Deacon said, sounding pleased. "I wanted you well rested. Take off your clothes."

I snapped my eyes and twisted my head around to look, finding him naked and raring to go.

Rolling my eyes, I shucked my pants and underwear off before slipping out of my shirt with a shiver. "Whatever."

Deacon stroked already slick fingers around his cock as he straddled me. His hazel eyes were half-hooded in lazy pleasure, but even so, the shrewd analysis of my reactions never stopped.

He dipped his head towards mine. I tensed, turning away as my heart burst into a panicked staccato. Deacon faltered only slightly, lips barely skimming my jaw before he backed off.

"Message received," he said slowly. He didn't sound angry, but sometimes I couldn't tell, and I didn't want to look at him to find out.

Deacon started rubbing up against me, licking and nibbling his way down my chest, and I relaxed by a series of slow degrees. At some arbitrary point, he decided it was time to make me come.

Scooting himself down, Deacon nudged my legs apart with his knees and settled between them. Both hands went to my cock, and he started gently twisting each back and forth in opposing directions.

I screwed my eyes shut and bucked my hips, mouth agape and balls tightening up as liquid heat flooded my groin. Deacon's tongue flicked out, swirling the tip of my cock before sliding up and down the slit.

He took the crown in his mouth and hummed, sending me over the edge. I jerked against him, shooting hard. He swallowed, sucking me through it until I batted weakly at his shoulder.

Deacon pulled away, sitting back on his heels. He made eye contact as I panted in a boneless heap, and his tongue darted out, licking a drop of my cum off the corner of his mouth. I looked away, cheeks flaming as shame and anxiety curled in my stomach.

"Hey," Deacon said, making me jump. His hands settled on my thighs, warm and reassuring in their steadiness. "I might push your boundaries now and then, but I won't ever truly force you to do something you don't want. Okay? There are plenty of other ways you make me feel good. You're new to this. Just give it time."