Bad Judgment

by Sidney Bell

  When Brogan had worked an entire finger in by way of countless tiny thrusts, he added a second and started all over again. Embry had never found being prepared to be a pleasant experience—it was an alien, efficient necessity on a good day, and on a bad one it just hurt. But he was opening up so gradually under Brogan’s hands that it didn’t hurt at all. It felt amazing, and even if his whole body was otherwise wracked with tension, the muscles inside him had relaxed to the point where Brogan could probably enter him without doing any damage at all, even though he was impressively thick. But Brogan only eased back out, lazy and teasing, before sliding back in.

  Again. And again.

  “I will fucking kill you,” Embry groaned. He was sweating now, head kicked back on the pillows, thighs straining, because this was taking forever and he was so sensitive now that even the slightest shift of Brogan’s fingertips had him jerking.

  “Manners,” Brogan replied, and he sounded wrecked—dark and raspy and almost violent.

  Embry pried his eyes open and shivered at Brogan’s expression, thinned down with need.

  Then Brogan twisted his wrist, located his prostate and stroked. Embry’s eyes slammed closed and he cried out as pleasure, slick and hot and heavy, coiled deep within him. The fingers withdrew and he let out an actual whine of protest, a sound that would no doubt give Brogan enough ammunition to humiliate him for weeks afterwards, but fuck, he couldn’t help it.

  “Christ, look at you,” Brogan said, low and hoarse. He pushed deep, stroked that perfect spot again, and Embry bucked. “So eager. All spread open before me. This is what I wanted, Embry. To see you need me as much as I need you.”

  The words didn’t make a lot of sense to his conscious mind, but he suspected that they were sinking in somewhere, because even as Brogan added a third finger and started the shallow stroking all fucking over again, Embry couldn’t help feeling warm, perhaps even safe. The brush against his prostate didn’t return for long, torturous minutes, and he was being destroyed by the mixture of anticipation and friction, always wondering when that burst of pleasure would come again, trying to encourage it with short jerks of his hips.

  “As long as you’re doing that, I’m not going any deeper,” Brogan warned him, and Embry groaned. “Not that I don’t find the sight of you fucking yourself on my fingers brilliant, but I don’t want you coming again yet.”

  “Bastard,” Embry said, but he managed to curtail his movements so all that remained were small, involuntary quivers. He gave up. Brogan was going to do whatever he wanted and Embry would simply have to trust that it wouldn’t kill him.

  But hell, what a way to go.

  That third finger eventually joined the others in stroking him deep inside, and this time Brogan kept it up for long, wonderful seconds, until Embry was incoherent and half-wild with it.

  Which of course was when Brogan pulled out of his body entirely.

  “Oh, don’t,” Embry gasped, finding his voice somewhere. “Please don’t stop. Don’t.”

  “Not stopping,” Brogan gritted out, and Embry peered up at him, shocked by the severity of the demand there. Brogan’s civility was gone, his patience and kindness stripped away, his mouth tight, his eyes hard and fierce, and Embry felt—for the first time ever—frightened of him. He watched Brogan put the condom on with his breath strangling in his throat.

  “Now you can touch,” Brogan grunted. He grabbed Embry’s hips and jerked him closer, tilting him up. Embry’s hands landed on Brogan’s shoulders, although he didn’t know if it was to grip tight or push away.

  Embry still couldn’t breathe. Brogan was too much for him, too strong to control, too forceful to manipulate, and Embry had a pulse-pounding moment of actual, physical alarm. He knew what it was to be carved open, and Brogan already had far too much power over him. This could...this could be the thing that broke him, and right now, Brogan looked fully capable of it.

  Embry was overwhelmed, although it wasn’t until Brogan froze that he realized he’d said or done something that conveyed this.

  “Do you want me to stop?” Brogan asked. Some of that mad ferocity had fallen back—not gone, definitely not—but beneath the strain in his voice was the concern that Embry was used to. Embry hesitated, not sure of what he wanted, and Brogan’s face softened even further. He leaned down, pressing a sweet kiss to Embry’s temple. “We can stop, baby. All you have to do is say so.”

  The fear drained away, leaving him feeling stupid. This was Brogan, and even when he was on the verge of losing all control, he wouldn’t hurt Embry, wouldn’t use Embry, would only ever think that Embry’s pain and worry mattered. Embry arched up, wrapping his arms around those broad shoulders, fingers digging into resilient strength. He slid his knees up, his legs curving over Brogan’s hips, holding him close, and whispered, “Fuck me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Fuck me, Brogan. Please.”

  Brogan pushed in slow and easy, and even relaxed as Embry was, it was a tight fit. A slight burn accompanied the stretch, but the pain was so sweet that it somehow made the pleasure sharper, and when Brogan paused so Embry could adjust, he rolled his hips, his body aching for the invasion even as it struggled to accommodate it, drawing Brogan in more deeply.

  “God,” Brogan gasped. “Don’t do that.”

  “Move, then.”

  “Embry—”

  “Shut up and fuck me,” Embry snarled, and Brogan finally—finally—did.

  His thrusts were deep and steady, and they lit Embry up all over, burning through his muscles and ligaments so that he clenched around Brogan, clung, strove to get closer. He pushed down, rocking against the hardness inside him, and Brogan grunted, moving faster and with more force when Embry didn’t protest. His big body shifted, searching for the right angle, and when that exquisite fire burned low in his belly again, Embry shouted without meaning to.

  “Got it,” Brogan rasped.

  And then there was just heat and slick and friction as it built and overrode everything else. Brogan leaned down and kissed him, reckless and wet and fierce, a mess of tongues and teeth and sharp groans panted against lips.

  Brogan’s cock stretched him wide, plunging deep, left him helpless with craving, and Brogan was whispering in his ear, words that sent zings of heat through him: you’re so good like this, Embry, I love you like this, so open and wild and needy, I could fuck you like this forever, you’re so sweet, you need my cock, don’t you?

  Embry moaned in agreement, and the words continued, hot and dirty and demanding, and Embry couldn’t hide from any of it. He did need Brogan’s cock, he needed to come, needed to feel Brogan come inside him.

  He needed Brogan.

  He tried to plead for mercy—if he didn’t come now he might die, since his heart was thundering so hard in his chest he was surprised Brogan couldn’t hear it—and that pleading came out as a sob of pure frustration and agony.

  “I know, baby,” Brogan growled. “I know what you need. I’m going to take care of you.”

  He lowered his upper body so Embry’s cock was caught between their bellies, the friction almost too much, and the orgasm rolled toward him from a mile away, the wave rising long before it hit. He tensed in anticipation, clenching down so hard that Brogan made a sound like a man driven past all endurance. His next thrust moved them both up the bed, all that force against that perfect spot, and Embry came again, came so hard it hurt, the world going white and bright behind his closed eyelids, the rush of pleasure like claws digging through him.

  He was left broken and useless and on the verge of tears.

  Brogan plunged inside him for another minute, the contact sending sizzling aftershocks through him, then came with a low shout, hands brutal on Embry’s hips for several seconds before he slumped down, burying his face in the curve of Embry’s neck.

  It took a while to
recover, and Embry needed every second of it to gather up the scattered pieces of himself. He was shattered and new, all because of Brogan, and the effort it took to pretend he wasn’t profoundly shaken was Herculean, but eventually Embry found the strength to shove at Brogan’s shoulder.

  “You’re heavy and sweaty and a million degrees,” he muttered. “Get off of me before I suffocate.”

  “Holy fuck,” Brogan wheezed, getting to his knees and wobbling precariously. He got rid of the condom and wiped them both down once more. “That was excellent. Seriously excellent. My end, at least.” He dropped back down, lower body sprawled over Embry, upper body to one side so he was propped up on one elbow. He was huge and perspiring and smiling and it wasn’t remotely cute. “Excellent,” he said again, sounding very pleased with himself. “You agree?”

  “Excellent,” Embry grunted. Brogan was way too bouncy after sex, but he wasn’t wrong about how good it was. “Sleep.”

  Brogan snorted, but his mood was made of Teflon—everything slid right off. “That thing? With your hips? Don’t forget how to do that, okay?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Embry mumbled, pretty sure all he’d done was lie there and take it. He hoped Brogan liked having sex with lazy people or else he’d never fuck Embry again.

  And if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Brogan had to fuck him again. Maybe when he woke up, because he was going to be asleep in about thirty seconds even if Armageddon started.

  Addicted, Embry thought. Well, if the shoe fit.

  He tried to edge away from the miniature sun that was Brogan’s overheated body, but the jerk slid in behind him and tugged him close, entwining their legs together. Embry wanted to be annoyed—he tried hard to be annoyed, because nothing about being sticky and overwarm was pleasant—but hell if he could figure out how. His spine had liquefied, and his eyelids weighed about nine million pounds, and Brogan made an excellent big spoon, and soon Embry was falling asleep to the sensation of Brogan’s lips dropping gentle kisses to the nape of his neck.

  Then Brogan said, “I love you.”

  And Embry was wide awake again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Waking up in someone else’s arms would be disorienting enough. Waking up next to a squid thing with eight arms and almost that many legs described waking up with Brogan.

  Embry was hugging the very edge of the bed when his eyes opened to Sunday morning sunshine. He was in no danger of falling, however, because Brogan was sprawled half on top of him and the blankets were twined around them both. It was claustrophobic and invasive, and Embry lay there for quite some time trying to mind.

  I love you.

  Well. Embry didn’t know what to think about that.

  That hadn’t stopped him from staying up a good hour after Brogan dropped off. He’d replayed those words in his mind over and over, words that conferred a responsibility, one Embry had already failed to meet. He’d let Brogan down the moment he’d taken the coward’s way and pretended to be asleep.

  I love you.

  His stomach clenched. This reprieve couldn’t last much longer, and the impossibility of those words only rendered this temporary haven all the more fragile, so rather than think about it, he began to wiggle loose. Brogan shifted in his sleep, coming down more firmly on top of him, breathing in his ear.

  “Oh, for the love of God,” Embry said, not bothering to whisper, and it didn’t matter because Brogan slept through that, too. So Embry pushed and shoved, and at some point Brogan snuffled and rolled them both over so they were back in the middle of the bed, still intermingled.

  His eyes were closed, but his lips were smiling, and Embry said, “How long have you been awake, you asshole?”

  In answer, Brogan twisted his lower body, and his erection nudged against Embry’s thigh.

  “A while then,” Embry said, and decided that such machinations deserved punishment. He stroked Brogan’s cock, and Brogan groaned against his throat, sounding more like a bear coming out of hibernation than a man getting a hand job.

  Embry teased him a little, and Brogan jerked against him. “You know,” Embry said, “You spent all of yesterday driving me insane. I think you should learn what that feels like.”

  Brogan laughed, low and husky, and reached out one of his tentacle arms to fish something off the bedside table. He pushed Embry’s hand away from his groin so he could do something—put on a condom and apply more lube, Embry guessed—then threw something on the floor and rolled directly on top of Embry, using his wide hips to spread Embry’s thighs and rut down between them. He lowered his head for a kiss and Embry twisted his face away.

  “I have morning breath,” Embry pointed out.

  “I don’t care.”

  But Brogan transferred his attention to that sensitive spot beneath Embry’s ear anyway, making him shiver.

  “I hate you,” Embry gasped.

  “Are you still open?” Brogan asked.

  “For what?” Suspiciously. Very suspiciously.

  Brogan chuckled, licking at his collarbone before putting his lips against Embry’s ear. “I’m wondering if I can just slide right into you, right now. If your body’s still open for me. Still stretched out enough that you’ll take me nice and easy even without prep. Because I like that idea, that your body remembers me fucking into you, wants it again so badly that—”

  “Stop talking and do it,” Embry ordered. He hitched his legs around Brogan’s waist, and Brogan rocked up against him, thick and demanding and yes, freshly lubed up over a fresh condom. Embry shuddered, and for a moment he thought he was too tight before his muscles reluctantly yielded, letting Brogan in. His body did remember, but Brogan stared down at him intently anyway, watching for any flicker of pain, and he gave Embry plenty of time to adjust. Too much, really, because it was glacier-meltingly slow, and Embry felt every inch, his nerve endings hypersensitive, the friction just on this side of unbearable, and he was panting and sweating with the stretch of it. Once he saw that it didn’t hurt, Brogan turned implacable, delving deeper and taking Embry apart in the process. He pulled back just as slowly and Embry shook his head on the pillow.

  “More,” he groaned.

  “Nope.” Brogan sounded tense, though, like it was killing him not to plunge in. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “When did you have time?” Embry asked, tilting his hips up.

  “Stop that. And just now. I can think really fast. Because I’m so smart.”

  “Right.”

  Brogan’s breathing was labored, but it wasn’t because of the exercise, because he was still moving with excruciating deliberation. People had gotten old with more speed than this. “I’m thinking that you should stay here today.”

  “I have things to do,” Embry gasped. “Go, uh, go faster.”

  “Do them here,” Brogan replied. “And I’ll go faster when you agree.”

  “Oh my God, shut up shut up, you bastard.” Embry couldn’t stay, he couldn’t, but it was hard to remember that with Brogan holding him and moving within him so temptingly.

  “Your dirty talk needs work.”

  How Brogan was holding up his end of the conversation Embry didn’t know, but he clearly had no intention of succumbing to pleading, and for long, torturous minutes he teased them both no matter how much Embry tried to pull him deeper with his legs.

  “We can have hot dogs,” Brogan said.

  Embry meant to say, hot dogs are the food equivalent of nuclear waste, but what came out was a broken, garbled mess that sounded more like “Would you fucking pound me already?”

  Brogan must’ve liked that; he shuddered and went still, eyes clenched shut. “No,” he gritted out. “I will not pound you, because I am making a point, a very good point, and any second now I will remember what that point is, and then you�
��ll be so fucking sad—”

  Embry was done with this waiting shit. He slid his hands from the small of Brogan’s back down to his ass, gripped tight and yanked.

  Brogan crashed into him, they both groaned, and Brogan’s self-control snapped. He shoved himself into Embry with enough force that it nearly hurt, nearly, but Brogan’s cock had found that sweet spot inside him, which meant all that brutality just felt good. Embry threw his head back, spread his legs as wide as they’d go, planted his feet on the mattress, and met every thrust wholeheartedly.

  It was fast then, fast and demanding and exactly perfect and when Embry came he arched so hard that his spine popped.

  Brogan was holding him tightly enough that there would be bruises, but he was unbothered by this. Sex with Brogan was kind of like a party, he thought, half-stupid with afterglow even as Brogan continued to hold him open and yes, pound. It was going to hurt very soon, because Brogan was too big to be this rough for very long, but Embry didn’t care at the moment. He was too busy musing on the possibilities of his growing addiction. “Next time I’m going to ride your cock,” he decided, and Brogan gave an unholy groan and came.

  “I had a plan and everything,” Brogan gasped.

  “We’re not having hot dogs for breakfast,” Embry said, and as the sex-haze cleared from his brain, he ignored the little pang inside him at the thought that there might not be a next time at all.

  * * *

  Showered, dressed and eating eggs at the dining room table, Embry began to worry that the morning’s lassitude wasn’t going to fade. If anything, it was getting worse. He wanted to take a nap on the couch. He wanted to play more video games. It was embarrassing, but he sort of wanted to sit on Brogan’s lap and kiss his neck like a fucking harem girl.

  It could be okay, he told himself. Here with Brogan, everything seemed smaller. Not unimportant, but manageable, like he could have this and his revenge.