Page 9 of Devil May Lie

“My turn.” It was the only warning he gave before he pinned Madden with a palm to his lower abs and shoved his weeping dick between Madden’s ass cheeks. He entered him in a mirror move to the one he’d just been taken, brutally and without mercy, laughing when Madden cursed and clawed at his arms in a bid to get away.

“Believe it or not,” he found himself confiding, the words tumbling off his lips like a madman spewing nonsense, too lost to the throws of passion to make rhyme or reason out of why he’d bother speaking at all, “I don’t enjoy hurting others. It doesn’t get me going. But my pain?” He drove in as deep as he could go. “Claw me harder if you want this to be over quicker.”

Madden moaned. “At least I had the decency to stretch you out first. As soon as you come, that ass of yours is mine again.”

“If you can take it,” he challenged, smirking.

He vaguely wondered if Impression might have other side effects, like perhaps turning you into a completely different person.

But then Madden met his thrust and all he could think about was chasing his own release. The moment the drug took complete control over them both was obvious because everything that took place between them after that was a blur of motion and raw desire.

At some point, the door to the boathouse may have opened, and someone might have walked in on them—but Berga only had a vague impression of that happening and of Madden ordering the intruder away with scary threats that had somehow excited Berga even more. He’d ground down onto him in a frenzy, taking him as deep into his body as he could go, no longer caring about the mess or his usual preferences.

It flipped back and forth between them. Him on top. Him on bottom. The squeeze of Madden’s body around his dick. Sharp intakes of breath as he was pounded from behind himself. Copulating had never been this chaotic for Berga before. This frenetic. He’d find his anxiety spiking whenever reality threatened to trickle past the desire, but Madden would help chase that feeling away with sensation unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

Eventually, they must have both passed out, because when he next came to, Berga was lying on his back on the cold concrete floor, bright sunlight spilling down from the skylight above to blind him. He blinked against the harsh rays with a groan which caused him to wince. Why was his throat so sore?

He rubbed at it and peeled himself off the ground, only managing to make it into a seated position. He’d ended up between the couch and the coffee table, his body itchy and covered in dried sweat and come. At some point, probably after the first orgasm, he’d lost the condom, so half the mess was undoubtedly his. There were bite marks peppered all over his skin, the light indents of teeth and bruises scattered over his chest, arms, and thighs. Even still, there were very few places where blood had been drawn, and where it had, the wounds had already healed and left no smears or smudges of red.

The spot directly between his eyes hurt like a bitch, the pulsing sensation causing him to make yet another sound as he pressed his middle finger there.

“Morning,” Madden’s sleepy voice, barely audible even in the near-silent room, had Berga glancing over. The royal was sprawled out on his stomach over the couch, his arms wrapped around one of the throw pillows. He didn’t look any better than Berga.

For every mark he’d given, Berga had returned the favor two-fold.

He almost chuckled, catching himself at the last second. Not that Madden would have noticed with his eyes still shut.

“Grab me a water.” Madden motioned in the direction of the mini fridge.

“Get it yourself.” His multi-slate, the body-borne device that acted as a communicator and computer, was still attached to his wrist, and he checked for missed messages, frowning when there was nothing from Flix. Where the hell—

“Come on,” Madden persisted. “You need to make it up to me. I’ve never bottomed before.”

“Neither have I.”

“Yeah, well we can both agree that I at least was more thoughtful than you in that department. This is your fault. The least you can do is get me some water. My throat feels like it’s been rubbed down with sandpaper. What’s your spunk made of?”

“What are you talking about?” Berga planted a palm against the coffee table, took a deep breath, and then lifted onto his feet, grimacing all the while. Everything ached. He even wobbled a bit before finding his balance.

“I blew you,” Madden said. “Aw, don’t tell me you can’t remember?”

“I have a very vague recollection,” he admitted, sort of able to picture Madden’s head between his thighs, his maroon hair clutched between Berga’s fingers as he spurred him on.

It’d been soft after all, his hair.

The old boathouse had been converted to Madden’s hangout pad for years now, complete with a living space, a full kitchen, and an entertainment area. A set of wooden stairs to the left and by the kitchen led up to the top level, where a wraparound balcony overlooked the first. Madden’s bedroom was apparently up there, but clearly they hadn’t managed to make it even off the couch, let alone anywhere close to the stairs.

The mini fridge was tucked underneath a bar that separated the kitchen from the living space, but Berga didn’t think he’d be able to manage bending over to grab anything from within and get back up again, so he passed it and went straight for the large unit between the stove and an empty countertop.

He pulled it open and searched for water, needing to brush food takeout cartons and single-serve protein shakes to the side in order to locate one way in the back. Why was he doing this again? To keep the peace? Hadn’t that ship sailed?

Once he had the water he straightened, but before he could turn, an arm came around him, holding a multi-slate out. Berga paused and stared at the silent film playing on the screen, watching footage of himself spiking Madden’s beer before handing it over. If someone didn’t know what to look for, they’d miss it, but the threat was obvious.

“I have cameras set up all over the place,” Madden’s smug voice came from behind him a second before the royal eased in close enough to bump up against Berga’s ass. He didn’t move away even after the contact, following Berga when he stepped forward to try and break it.

All he managed to do was trap himself more effectively between Madden and the refrigerator.

“I wonder what Kelevra and Baikal would say if they saw this?”

---