[With their long stint at the castle behind them, he never thought Hector had it in him to challenge him again, threaten his ego, to push back, much less while wounded and weak. And on some level he can see this for what it is: an attempt to goad him to action, urging him to finish what he started the way he's never left loose ends untied, before. But even knowing this, they are only ever a single word away, a single word at the right time - or wrong time, from waking a rage inside him that would see Hector dead in the ground.
With a cracked half-scream, he swings his forehead into Hector's, pain splitting into his skull, half-blinded by flashes of light and blood dripping into his eye as he winds back to hit him again. He jerks his hand free from Hector's grasp. His right finds his own cock and he pumps fiercely, a beast in heat, thighs and abdomen flexing and frantic energy popping off the ends of his nerves as his balls pull tighter, tighter. Huffing, he shudders and comes, finally, hot ropes slapping Hector's skin, over chest and face. As if all he is and ever will be is as good as the dirt he walks on. He wrings himself dry, his breath short and rasping and hard. No sense triumph or bitter satisfaction. Only anger boiling black in his veins, all of him shaking with unspent violence.
It crosses his mind to let Abel finish on his behalf. To give Hector more than he ever bargained, driving home his mistake with every brutal, tireless thrust. But he waits for another careless word out of Hector's mouth, as if he needs permission, an excuse.]
no subject
With a cracked half-scream, he swings his forehead into Hector's, pain splitting into his skull, half-blinded by flashes of light and blood dripping into his eye as he winds back to hit him again. He jerks his hand free from Hector's grasp. His right finds his own cock and he pumps fiercely, a beast in heat, thighs and abdomen flexing and frantic energy popping off the ends of his nerves as his balls pull tighter, tighter. Huffing, he shudders and comes, finally, hot ropes slapping Hector's skin, over chest and face. As if all he is and ever will be is as good as the dirt he walks on. He wrings himself dry, his breath short and rasping and hard. No sense triumph or bitter satisfaction. Only anger boiling black in his veins, all of him shaking with unspent violence.
It crosses his mind to let Abel finish on his behalf. To give Hector more than he ever bargained, driving home his mistake with every brutal, tireless thrust. But he waits for another careless word out of Hector's mouth, as if he needs permission, an excuse.]