Eye of the Storm - 1. Eye of the Storm

He’s going to leave. He’s got what he came for, found the help he needed, and now he’s going to leave again. I’ve convinced myself that that’s okay. I always knew he’d leave. He’s not the kind to stick around.

And I know he’s used us. It’s not his fault, not really. It’s his nature to use people for his own ends, to take advantage, and I’ve known him long enough not to feel surprised or hurt. And yet, to see him leave again so soon, when just yesterday I thought he was dead and that I would never see him again, feels deeply unfair.

I reach out, fully aware that he’s probably playing me, that I’m being influenced by his pheromones or just his presence, because he’s the only man I’ve ever felt this way about. I can’t bring myself to care very much. I reach out and grasp his hand, and he turns to face me, that ever present smirk plastered onto his face, but I feel like there’s something in his eyes, something different. Something new.

‘Daken,’ I breathe, not sure what’s supposed to follow, if I even meant to say anything specific. I don’t have to. He smiles, cups my cheek, and then kisses me.

I can’t say how long I’ve wanted this, his lips on mine, his tongue in my mouth. And even as I’m thinking it, I can’t be sure if this is something I actually want or something he’s making me want. I try not to care, try to just ignore it, because fuck, he’s beautiful. He’s beautiful and terrible in the way of a massive thunderstorm, or a tidal wave, or another destructive force of nature. If I want him because he wants me to want him, I think I can live with that.

He’s kissing and biting at my neck, now, and one of his hands slides up under my shirt to touch my bare skin. I gasp and close my eyes as his fingers slide along the waistband of my jeans, and I can feel his smile against my skin.

‘Eager, hm?’ he purrs, moving to cup me through my pants. I’m already hard.

‘Little shit,’ I manage weakly, and he laughs.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he murmurs. ‘You think I’m manipulating you.’

‘And are you?’ I ask breathlessly, opening my eyes again.

He looks at me with his pale blue eyes and, as he pops the button of my jeans, whispers, ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’

He drops to his knees in a fluid, feline motion and I lean back against the railing, the cool night air chilling me as he pulls my pants down to expose me. It’s not even close to enough to kill my hard-on, even without my ability to warm the air around me. Gazing up at me through thick, dark lashes he takes my dick into his mouth, and I can’t stifle the moan that bubbles forth. He hums appreciatively at the sound, and I slip my fingers into his mohawk.

He stops, too soon, gets to his feet, leans in close and whispers in my ear, ‘Would you like to go somewhere more comfortable?’

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. My voice comes out shaky. ‘Okay.’

We walk to my room, I in front and he behind, not talking or touching. My mind is racing along with my pulse, asking if this is really what I want. At the same time I can’t help but wonder if the change of location is to give me the chance to change my mind.

I don’t change my mind.

The moment we enter my room, I turn on him, push him up against the closed door. I want to touch every part of him, feel his skin on mine, so I pull off his t-shirt, my t-shirt, the one he borrowed mere hours before after kissing me, here in this room. It feels like everything, all our interactions since he first turned up here all those months ago to ask for our help against Osborne, have led up to this moment.

And now his hands are on me and mine on him, and I get to my knees and swallow his cock. I’ve never done it before. It feels awkward, but not unpleasant, and once again I can’t bring myself to care much. If the sounds he’s making are anything to go by, I seem to be doing a decent job in spite of my inexperience.

He stops me before I can make him come, pulls me to my feet and kisses me, tasting himself on my tongue, and moans into my mouth. Then he licks a trail along my jaw to my ear and whispers, ‘I’m gonna ride you, Johnny Storm. Would you like that?’

In the haze of my arousal all I can do is moan softly and nod. He leads me to the bed and pushes me down on my back, straddling my waist. He makes quick work of our clothes, leaving us both naked and exposed. I’m so hard it hurts, and he looks down at my dick with hunger in his eyes.

Crouching over me, he kisses me again. It’s slow and messy, and he takes care not to touch my weeping cock. Then he sticks two fingers in my mouth, pressing them down against my tongue, and I suck them eagerly. His skin tastes salty and clean, and his hands smell like me. He makes a show out of prepping himself, using my saliva. I try to tell him I have lube somewhere, but he dismisses me, unconcerned. I watch him finger himself unashamedly, eyes lidded and pupils blown, and now he’s sinking down on my length, and I close my eyes and swear loudly.

‘Fuck, Johnny,’ he hisses. ‘Love . . . your cock!’

He’s so fucking tight and beautiful, and when I’m all the way inside he stills for a moment and I open my eyes again to look up at him. He’s panting, tattooed chest rising and falling with every breath. Then he rocks his hips, and a shudder goes through us both.

I want to touch him, but he won’t let me. He grabs my hands and presses them down into the mattress. He holds me down as he rides me hard, grunting with every roll of his hips. I try to hold back, try to make it last, but being inside Daken is like a fire and a heat that’s unfamiliar and volatile even to me.

He doesn’t mean for it to last. His movements and the sounds he’s making tell me that he’s horny and wants to come, and soon his movements become more erratic and he lets go of my hands and begins to stroke himself. I’m so close, and watching him touch himself, seeing his back arch as his fingernails dig into my chest, pushes me towards the edge. I hold on, don’t want to come before he does. Not sure what to do with my hands now that they’re free, I grip his hips, hard, and his eyes meet mine.

With a shout, he comes, shooting his load over both our stomachs. He tightens around me, rides me through his orgasm, and I can’t hold on any longer, don’t want to, and I come inside him with a loud groan, my hips bucking upwards, fucking into him with abandon.

When it’s over, he collapses on my chest, smearing cum between us. His black hair clings to the side of his sweaty face and he takes a few long, steadying breaths. I put my arms around him. I want to hold him. Want to go to sleep holding him in my arms, but I know that’s not gonna happen.

Daken props himself up on his elbows and smiles down at me. ‘Well,’ he murmurs, ‘that was fun. Thank you, Johnny-boy.’ He pats my cheek and moves to get off me, but I’m not about to let him get away that easily. Not yet.

I pull him close and find his lips. He makes a small noise of surprise, but then he seems to melt into my arms and lets me kiss him, lets me press my tongue inside his mouth to taste him. He’s leaving, and I don’t know when he’ll be back, if he’ll ever be back, if I’ll see him again. I need this moment, need him to be mine for just a minute longer, and for once Daken grants my wish.

Then the moment’s passed, and he’s climbing off me, my softening cock slipping out of him with a soft, wet pop. I watch him get dressed, wiping the cum off his stomach with a kleenex before putting the t-shirt back on. He smiles at me.

‘Thanks for everything, Johnny,’ he says.

I nod. ‘Yeah. No problem. Um . . . Take care.’

He already has his hand on the doorknob, but he looks back at me, and now he’s crossing the room back to my bed, and he kisses me. It’s gentle, almost chaste, and there’s that something in his eyes again, the something new that I can’t identify.

‘You too,’ he whispers, and then he’s gone.