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Brandon’s heart pounded in his ears as he watched the man’s hand work, his chuckle sending shivers down his spine. This was it. He was about to jump off a point of no return. Would he think of teenage Jules? Of all those visions of her fumbling clumsy lovers helping themselves to her body with little regard for the treasure they had and no idea how to pluck the delicate sensations she needed to give her pleasure?
“Come on, don’t be shy. I’ll be a fuck load gentler than those arseholes. Just open your mouth and—”
“No. You open your mouth, and suck my dick.”
The ring in his voice resonated throughout the darkened courtyard. It was a small, hard part of himself that he’d kept so carefully locked away, thanks to the advice and admonishments of his mum and the former alpha, but it felt so damn good to be out. Just as it felt good to see the man fall to his knees in front of him, his cock still twitching from the effects of Brandon’s command. He watched the man undo Brandon’s fly and release his aching cock with cold eyes, almost as if this was happening to someone else. That composure was shattered as the man swallowed him down to the root. It’d be much later when he’d come to appreciate Warwick—because that was the man’s name—and his total lack of gag reflex. But right now, as the other man’s throat convulsed around his dick, all he could do was rely on instinct and thrust. His fingers scored the close crop of the man’s head as Brandon shoved his dick into Warwick’s mouth.
“Jules…” he whimpered as he felt his balls boil. “Jules…”
The memory jumped forward a moment, Warwick now standing, his dick limp and a considerable cum stain across his jeans. He seemed to eye Brandon with a newfound respect. “I’m getting Mick for you. I reckon he’s the best person to get you started. But, kid, you want that,” Warwick glanced down at Brandon’s crotch, “on the regular, you just come to House 12. I’m on my own, got plenty of space for you—”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Brandon said. “Now, can you get me Mick?”
The shed faded away to a brightly lit room. Rain pattered against the window, and Brandon sat naked on a bed, staring at the drops as they fell.
“No one touches you.”
He looked over his shoulder where Mick and Warwick lay. Mick was stroking the other man’s back, obviously ready for round twenty or whatever they were up to. Lily and Sharon were in heat, and the single men were in an uproar. Two women coming into season cloaked the unmarried quarters in a miasma of lust, and any work needing done had either crawled to a standstill or fell on the shoulders of the mated.
“Pretty sure I touched you a whole lot,” Brandon replied, looking at the long pink marks still adorning Warwick’s back and buttocks.
“That’s not what I mean. You fuck like the devil, but nothing gets you inside.”
“Warwick…” Mick growled.
“No, I need to say this. You take the ‘keep this just physical’ thing the women tell us to follow to a whole other level.”
“Bend over,” Brandon said, rolling away from the window and moving across the bed, picking up the lube before working it up and down his hard cock until it was slick. For all his protestations, Warwick’s gaze was trained on his hand, following every movement. “I want to fuck you.”
Warwick shook his head, jerking his eyes upwards. “You can’t keep doing this. You can’t just use me as a hole to get off. I need to know if there’s anything here beyond sex.”
Mick met his gaze, a warning within it. Mick had taken him under his wing, introduced him to safe, sane, and consensual kink, helped him become the kind of lover he wanted to be. They often played together, but Mick knew this all had an expiry date. He didn’t understand Brandon’s visions, understood little about his prescient powers, but he knew this was not a long-term lifestyle for Brandon. Warwick didn’t.
“I can’t give you anything more than my dick. If that’s not enough for you, I’ll leave. I’m sorry, you deserve more, but I’m not the one to give it to you. So, what do you want?”
Brandon watched the war rage within the other man’s head. If he touched him, he’d get the blow by blows, but he didn’t need that. He waited for Warwick to choose to surrender or to put up appropriate boundaries.
It was no surprise to Brandon when the other man got onto his hands and knees in front of him, presenting the very hole Warwick accused him of reducing him down to. Some men liked to be beaten and marked, or tied up and forced to do humiliating things, but Warwick seemed to thrive on a more subtle form of abuse.
“I’m thinking of her when I push myself inside you,” he said as he fitted his slick cock against the other man’s arse, rubbing the sphincter there until it began to relax.
Mick shook his head as Brandon very carefully, very considerately, started to arse fuck the guy. Because in his mind, it wasn’t Warwick under him.
“Put it in,” her voice rasped, sounding like scored silk.
He loved that sound, her voice breaking with desire and need, the desperation he’d managed to make her feel, wanting, begging him to push past her limits before she was ready. When he surged forward, it was the hot tight clasp of her around him, not some guy. He couldn’t do this with a woman, the overlay of her over the other jarred somehow. But on a sub like Warwick, he fell away, a meaningless substitute, and Brandon felt the other man’s dick ache that much harder from being treated as such. He thrust inside her, holding back somewhat. He only really let loose, slamming into someone, when he was consciously with a guy. Now, he was gentle and considerate, pulling pleasure from her body, edging her closer and closer.
“Oh god, Brandon, yes!”
He smiled at her exultant cries, speeding up, feeling his cock throb, her groans growing louder as a result. They were tied together in this endless feedback of pleasure that spun and spun until—
Brandon’s hands were snatched back from where they gripped me, the visions, the dark lake, all disappearing until it was just him, me, and the moons.
“It’s always been you, Jules, always. I think I learned your name before mum-mum or da-da. I was flooded with visions of you—being born, growing up. Your tantrums were my tantrums, your joys were my joys. I saw every milestone, every growth spurt. I saw the awkwardness of teenagehood, I saw those fucking boys who seemed to have no idea what they held. I saw that bloody brother of yours just leave you in Melville with barely a cent to rub together, telling you he’d ‘invest’ the money made from selling your parents’ house. I saw the dickheads who hassled you at work, the first time your heart was broken, when you finished your degree. I am saturated in you.”
I took a step backwards, shaking my head, unable to get my mind around what he said.
“I saw Buddy when he was a puppy. I saw you when your parents died. Jules, I saw you.” Tears shone in his eyes, his face a mask of pain. “I saw us. I saw everything we could become, if you chose me. But, Jules, I could have used all this to my advantage, made sure it was me you met first, slept with first. I could have hovered around your head like a bloody bee, seeking that sweet nectar, but I didn’t. I know you’re terrified, anyone would be. But, Jules, I’ve never used this information to try to coerce you. You had to choose, I saw that in all of my visions. That choice is the most important thing for anyone, and you did. You chose me.” He tugged down his shirt to show me the pinkish scar on his neck. “You chose me, and it's only now you’re learning what that means. You have to decide, love, if this is something you can live with, because I can’t take it away.” He held out a hand, and I saw the tremble in his fingers. “I’ve never seen past this point. My visions are done now, apparently. I have no idea what you’ll choose.”
