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Patrick’s jaw locked tight. Shit. Fal’ran was right. Again. Patrick knew exactly what to say to get Fal’ran’s hands off him. He just…didn’t…want to.
He wanted to enjoy it. He wished he could enjoy it, like Fal’ran said they should. He wished he could roll around with this gorgeous, clever man that he wanted so desperately and laugh and smile and fight and fuck to exhaustion, but—
Fal’ran pressed Patrick’s leg forward and Patrick moaned with the pain. Clever fucking Fal’ran. How had he known pain would short out Patrick’s brain like this? Every spark of agony brought Patrick back into his own body. Away from his brain and his logic and his ethics and morals and his responsibilities and down into his body where he could feel everything without it all meaning anything.
Fal’ran pushed until Patrick’s hip flexor burned and he made a broken sound and threw his hand out to anchor himself.
“Unless you don’t want me to stop.” Fal’ran grabbed his hand and dropped his hips down onto Patrick’s, keeping them pinned. Patrick’s heart tripped over itself as Fal’ran tangled their fingers together. “Fuck, I definitely don’t want to stop.”
Fal’ran rolled his hips and the thick length Patrick had been staring at rubbed over his ass. Fuck, if Patrick had needed any more evidence that Fal’ran wanted this, then that burning rod nudging at his backdoor was it. Patrick’s heart pounded in his chest and every nerve in his body ached for him to give in.
He twisted his fingers with Fal’ran’s and turned his head to peer at him over his shoulder. “You think what we want right now is all that matters?”
Fal’ran met his eyes and held his gaze as he dropped his head and scratched one of his sharp tusks over Patrick’s shoulder, not enough to break the skin but enough to make Patrick shiver with desire at the threat. “Do you think it doesn’t matter at all?”
Patrick’s brow furrowed. The question threw him. “It—”
Fal’ran opened his mouth and bit down hard on Patrick’s shoulder and Patrick let out a cry. His hips bucked into the ground and another spurt of pre-cum wet his underwear. Fal’ran’s eyes flashed, and he bit down harder.
“Oh shit, Fal’ran, fucking—” Patrick clenched his jaw as he mindlessly rutted against the ground, fighting the pressure of Fal’ran’s weight on him to chase the friction of his hips against the floor. Pain radiated out from his shoulder and his balls throbbed. He ground his teeth together and brought all his discipline to bear on stilling his hips. “No. No, it doesn’t matter.”
Fal’ran released his shoulder and pressed his nose against Patrick’s skin. “Then what the fuck does?” His nostrils flared as he inhaled, and he let out a low moan that shook Patrick’s whole body. “Fuck, you smell so good.”
Patrick’s mouth fell open and his body flooded with warmth.
No one had ever said that to him. His whole life he’d lived among klah’eel and in the dormitories and the barracks when other boys and men had snuck off together, he’d heard them whispering or moaning that to each other but no one had once ever turned their nose to him with those words. The warmth morphed into hot embarrassment. He wasn’t a teenager anymore, pining after being desired. Sweet nothings didn’t mean anything to him.
“I’ve never smelled anyone like you.” Fal’ran dropped his weight onto Patrick’s, enclosing him with his body, and nosed into the hair on the nape of Patrick’s neck. Patrick shivered at the contrast of Fal’ran’s hard, sharp tusks with his soft lips brushing over his skin. “Like—”
“Time.”
Fal’ran froze.
Patrick swallowed and hardened his voice, repeating himself quietly but firmly. “Time.”
He didn’t want to hear what he smelled like to Fal’ran. It didn’t fucking matter, and he didn’t want to hear it and then never be able to un-hear it.
“Fuck,” Fal’ran hissed almost more to himself than to Patrick and rolled off Patrick’s body and onto his back beside him. Patrick propped up onto his elbows and watched as the younger man raked his huge hands down his face, tugging on his own tusks. Before he could stop them, Patrick’s eyes darted to Fal’ran’s hips to see that he was still tenting out his pants. He snatched them back and rolled farther away and pushed himself to sitting.
“Your future, Fal’ran.” Patrick ran his own hand through his hair as he caught his breath and wrestled his heart back down. He willed his erection down too, with somewhat less success.
“What?” Fal’ran dropped his hands and rolled his head to the side to stare at Patrick in complete confusion.
“Your future matters more than what we want right now.” Patrick rearranged his tank and his pants and tucked his erection up into his waistband to hide it.
Fal’ran shook his head as though he could shake Patrick’s words into a sensible arrangement. “What the fuck does my future have to do with this?”
“I’m your commanding officer.” Patrick looked around for his jacket and saw it lying stripes up a few feet away. “You need to be able to trust me and to respect me. I need to be able to teach you and train you and lead you.” Patrick stood up, walked over, and snatched his jacket from the ground. “It’s my responsibility to give you that, and I won’t let you throw it away.”
Fal’ran shoved himself to seated and continued to frown up at Patrick as though he were speaking nonsense. “But why does that have anything to do with this?”
Patrick yanked his jacket on, gripping the fabric so tight his knuckles whitened. “Because you won’t respect me after you’ve—” his face blazed as his tongue tripped over the word “—fucked me.”
“What?” Fal’ran’s volume rose enough to make Patrick wince.
“Keep your voice down,” he hissed, casting a glance at the canvas side of the tent where there were rows and rows of others and no sound blocking. If any of their neighbors were around, they’d have already heard Patrick moaning into the ground.
Fal’ran looked pissed, but he lowered his voice to a snarl instead of a yell. “What the fuck are you talking about, ‘I won’t respect you after I’ve fucked you’?”
