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The silence of the apartment had become a physical weight, pressing against Vanta's temples until he felt like he might snap.
For hours, the rooms had stayed unnervingly hollow. Usually, a retreating Wilson meant he was merely recharging his batteries after a long stream, but this stillness felt unnatural heavy and stagnant.
Every time Vanta paced the hallway, he found himself pausing by the bedroom door, his hand twitching to knock, to kick it open and demand an explanation. He'd sent texts that sat unread and called numbers that went straight to a cold, mechanical voicemail, each moment of silence carving a deeper groove of anxiety into his gut. Wilson was many things but he was never this quiet.
Finally, unable to stomach the growing dread, Vanta stood before the wood, his knuckles poised to strike. "Wilson? You dead in there, or just ignoring me?" he barked, though the bravado in his voice was betrayed by the tightness in his chest. When a beat of silence followed, too long and too empty, he spoke up again.
"Wilson, you okay in there?" Vanta's voice dropped an octave, softened by a thread of concern. He rapped his knuckles against the wood a rhythmic, grounding sound before leaning in, ear pressed hard against the grain to catch any sign of distress.
"'m fine," came a muffled reply. The hitman sounded small, his voice strained and thin, lacking its usual sharp edge. Inside the dim sanctuary of his room, Wilson was buried beneath a huge nest of pillows and heavy blankets. He clutched one of Vanta's gray sweatshirts to his face, inhaling the fading scent of cedar and musk with desperate, shuddering breaths.
His skin felt too tight, humming with a feverish, insistent ache that made even the softest fabric feel like sandpaper. Through the door, the thick, sweet aroma of his own smell bled into the hallway, a silent plea for the man standing just inches away.
Vanta's brow furrowed as he stared at the dark wood, the scars across his cheek pulling taut as he frowned. The air in the hallway was thickening, turning heavy and saccharine. It was a scent he knew too well - the dizzying pull of Wilson's pheromones.
They were bleeding through the cracks of the door, wrapping around Vanta's senses like a velvet snare. His pulse thudded a heavy, uneven rhythm against his ribs.
"I'm coming in," Vanta muttered, not bothering to wait for permission. Pushing the door open, he stepped into the dimness of the room. The heat hit him first a humid, concentrated wave of Wilson's scent that made his head swim.
His gaze sweeped the room before settling on the mound of blankets. Vanta approached the bed, casting a shadow over the shivering heap. He knelt by the bedside, the floorboards creaking under his weight. Reaching out, he peeled back a layer of the heavy duvet, his calloused hand hovering just inches from Wilson's flushed skin.
"Wilson," he murmured, his voice low and grounding. "Look at me."
A hitching, wet sniffle escaped Wilson as he forced his eyes open, blinking against the sudden intrusion of light and Vanta's towering silhouette. Every nerve ending felt frayed, raw from the sheer pressure of the heat blooming inside him. He shifted uncomfortably, the oversized shirt riding up his hips to reveal legs that felt heavy and uncoordinated.
Beneath the hem, his pussy was a swollen, weeping mess, pulsing with a rhythmic, demanding ache that made him want to scream. A slick, hot trail of moisture escaped him, coating his thighs in a desperate, needy sheen that felt far too exposed. Shivering, he reached out with a trembling hand, his fingers catching the fabric of Vanta's sleeve to pull him closer.
"Don't just fucking stare at me," he rasped, his voice cracking as he arched his hips instinctively toward the warmth of Vanta's palm. "It hurts, Vanta. Please..."
The sight of Wilson usually so self-regulated, reduced to this trembling, supplicant state sent a jolt of primal heat straight to Vanta's gut. Seeing those pale thighs slicked with a glistening, viscous sheen of arousal made his throat go dry. The scent was overwhelming now, thick enough to taste on the back of his tongue.
When Wilson's fingers hooked into his sleeve, pulling him inward, Vanta didn't resist. As Wilson arched his hips, hungry for touch, Vanta finally closed the distance. He slid his hand beneath the hem of his shirt, his broad, scarred palm making contact with the searing heat of Wilson's inner thigh.
The skin was tacky, coated in the honeyed nectar of his need. Vanta's thumb brushed against the swollen, sensitive folds of Wilson's pussy, feeling the frantic pulse of the engorged tissue.
"Shh, I got you," Vanta rumbled, his voice vibrating deep in his chest. He moved his hand higher, his fingers slicking themselves in the heavy, translucent moisture that leaked from Wilson. "Tell me where it hurts."
A broken moan tore from Wilson's throat as Vanta's thumb grazed his most sensitive part, sending shocks of pleasure up his spine. "Nghh~!" he squeezed his eyes shut, his head tossing back against a pillow as his hips moved on their own accord, rolling against the touch with more pressure to crush the aching void inside him.
"Everywhere...god, everywhere," he choked out, his breath coming in shallow, ragged hitches. He reached down, his own trembling fingers tangling in Vanta's hair to guide the man's head closer to the source of his misery. "Right there...please, Vanta, just...put do something." he let out a frustrated, whimpering sob, his legs trembling violently as they wrapped around Vanta's neck, trying to lock him into place.
Vanta let out a low, guttural growl, the strength of the hitman's grip surprising despite his frailty. The friction of Wilson's damp, heated skin against his jaw sent a surge of adrenaline through Vanta's veins. He could feel the tremor in Wilson's muscles, the way the smaller man's entire body seemed to vibrate with unspent tension.
Vanta leaned forward, abandoning the restraint of his hand to bury his face in the junction of Wilson's thighs. He groaned against the slick flesh, his nose brushing against the swollen, crimson petals of Wilson's pussy. The heat radiating from the organ was immense, nearly stifling.
Using his large hands to spread Wilson's thighs wider, exposing every weeping fold to the dim light, Vanta flicked his tongue out, earning a soft, breathy gasp from the blond. He tasted the salt and the heady, thick viscosity of the lubricant coating the slit.
"Hold still, baby," Vanta commanded against the wetness, his voice muffled by the proximity.
He laved a long, slow stripe from the base of the opening up to the sensitive nub, his rough tongue providing a delicious, abrasive friction that contrasted with the liquid heat. He felt the involuntary spasm of Wilson's pelvic muscles as he lapped greedily at the overflowing nectar.
A high, keening wail broke from Wilson's lips as Vanta's tongue dragged upward, the sensation almost too much for his hypersensitive nerves to bear. He gripped Vanta's hair tighter, his knuckles white, his head thrashing against the bed as he tried to ground himself amidst the waves of mounting pressure. The friction was driving him mad, the coarse texture of Vanta's tongue scraping against his swollen clit in a way that made his vision blur.
"Vant— aaahh~! Don't....haah...stop...!" he gasped, his hips jerking upward in a desperate attempt to swallow Vanta's face whole. He felt a fresh surge of heat, his body spilling even more slickness over Vanta's chin. He looked down through tear-blurred eyes, watching the man worship him, feeling a sudden, stinging pang of vulnerability. "Please...just fill me, Vanta. God...'m feel so empty, it's killing me!"
Vanta heard the desperation in that crackling plea, the raw, hollow hunger of a man begging to be conquered. He could feel the frantic pulse of Wilson's sex against his mouth, the slick, hot sliding of muscle as the hitman tried to force the connection. But instead of yielding, Vanta tightened his grip on Wilson's thighs, pinning them wide to keep him vulnerable and exposed.
He pulled back just an inch, leaving a shimmering, silver string of saliva and nectar connecting his lip to Wilson's weeping slit. He watched the way the light caught the trembling, pink flesh, seeing the way it pulsed in time with Wilson's panicked breathing. Vanta's thumbs began to circle the swollen nub, applying just enough pressure to make Wilson whine, but not quite enough to provide the release he craved.
A shaky sob slipped past Wilson's lips as Vanta retreated, the sudden withdrawal of that hot, abrasive tongue feeling like a cruel theft. He stared down through a haze of tears, watching the silver glisten of his own fluids clinging to Vanta's lips, his vision swimming with the sheer, agonizing frustration of being teased while he was already unraveling.
His hips bucked uselessly, searching for the heavy weight of Vanta's mouth again, but the relentless, circular pressure of those massive thumbs on his clit only served to sharpen the ache rather than soothe it. He felt stripped bare, his pale thighs trembling uncontrollably under Vanta's bruising grip, looking utterly wrecked and soaked in his own heat.
"Fuck...you..." Wilson rasped, his voice cracking as he arched his back, trying to force his swollen center back against Vanta's teasing hands. He reached down, his fingers digging into the hard, corded muscle of Vanta's forearms, seeking some kind of anchor to keep from breaking completely. "Stop teasing...please...just fuck me already!"
Vanta chuckled, a low, vibration of a sound that felt far too smug given the wreckage he was causing. He loved this side of Wilson, the fierce hitman reduced to a sobbing, needy wreck, going crazy from nothing more than a few deliberate touches.
"Patience, baby," Vanta murmured, though his own eyes were darkened with a predatory hunger.
Vanta shifted his weight, rising up to loom over Wilson. He guided his thick, throbbing length against the seam of Wilson's soaking wet entrance and rubbed the smooth, hot head of his cock against the swollen folds, painting the tip in Wilson's thick cream. He pushed just enough to stretch the opening, feeling the desperate, rhythmic contractions of the muscle trying to suck him in, before pulling back entirely.
He watched the way Wilson's hips stuttered in mid air, the man’s face flushed a deep, feverish scarlet.
"So impatient." Vanta teased, his voice dropping to a gravelly rasp. He leaned down, nipping at the sensitive skin of Wilson's neck, right where his pulse was hammering like a trapped bird. "But if you really want it, you have to ask properly. Tell me how badly you need me to stretch you open."
"Mmmnhh~!" a pathetic noise escaped Wilson as Vanta's tip teased the very threshold of his entrance, stretching him without the mercy of entry. The sheer, agonizing delay made his vision spark with white light, his pride long since dissolved into the puddle of sweat and slick beneath him.
"Please...Vanta, please—" he whimpered, the command lost to a desperate, breathless sob. He arched his spine until it felt like it might snap, his pelvis grinding frantically against Vanta's cock in a futile attempt to force the penetration. "Aaahh...stretch me...break me...just fucking fill me, please!"
The sheer desperation in Wilson's voice snapped the last threads of Vanta's restraint. He didn't give him a moment more to beg. Grabbing Wilson's waist with bruising force, Vanta hauled him upward, shifting his position until the hitman was braced on all fours. The change in angle left Wilson's backside arched high and vulnerable, his shaking thighs splayed wide to expose the dripping, reddened cavern of his cunt.
"That's my good boy," Vanta grunted, his voice thick with lust.
He positioned himself behind the smaller man, the blunt, heavy head of his cock pressing firmly against the drenched entrance. With one powerful, singular thrust, Vanta buried himself deep, driving home until their hips collided with a meaty, wet thwack.
Wilson's reaction was instantaneous, a high, keening shriek that died into a guttural moan as his internal muscles stretched to accommodate the massive invasion. Vanta didn't give him time to adjust, immediately pounding into him in a brutal rhythm. Each stroke was heavy and punishing, the sound of their bodies meeting becoming a wet, slapping cadence in the quiet room.
"Yes, aaahhh~! fuuck, Vantaa!" he screamed, the words dissolving into a mindless, melodic keen as his hips began to meet every punishing lunge with a frantic, instinctive grind.
Vanta leaned forward, his chest pressing against Wilson's sweaty back, his large hands reaching around to squeeze Wilson's hips, anchoring him for the onslaught. "You like that?" Vanta hissed into Wilson's ear, his pace increasing, each lunge deeper and more frantic than the last.
A broken, rattling gasp escaped Wilson as Vanta drove home, his spine arching so violently it felt as though his vertebrae might snap under the sheer, heavy mass of the intrusion. The sensation was overwhelming, a violent fullness that seemed to reach all the way to his lungs, stealing the very air from his chest. His head lolled back, eyes rolling upward until only the whites showed, his mouth hanging slack in a dazed, senseless expression of pure sensory overload.
Everything was blurring, the world narrowed down to the cruel, rhythmic friction of Vanta's hips slamming against his own. His vision swam with kaleidoscopic sparks, his dilated pupils flickering and warping like molten glass, losing their shape to the sheer intensity of the pleasure.
He clawed at the bedsheets, his knuckles white and trembling, as he surrendered his dignity to the heavy, unrelenting heat filling his core. "Mmwhh...hhaahhh...!"
Vanta was past the point of finesse. Driven by the feral heat of Wilson's pheromones and the frantic, messy sound of his pleas, he gripped the golden strands of Wilson's hair. He wound the locks tightly around his fist, tugging Wilson's head back to expose the straining line of his throat, forcing him to endure the full brunt of the impact.
With every savage lunge, Vanta drove himself in to the hilt, bottoming out with a force that made the bedframe groan. He watched, mesmerized and primal, as the heavy mass of his cock displaced the soft tissue of Wilson's abdomen. Beneath the pale skin of Wilson's belly, a visible, rhythmic bulge traveled with every thrust - the unmistakable shape of Vanta's length sliding deep into his core, stretching him from the inside out.
An unintelligible sound spilled from Wilson's throat as his head was yanked back by his hair, his neck bared and straining. His brain felt like it was liquefying, melting under the brutal, rhythmic weight of Vanta's thrusts; the sight of his own stomach rippling with every deep, heavy lunge made his mind fracture completely.
"Sho...sho goodd..." he slurred, the word stumbling heavily off his tongue as a thick, senseless moan vibrated through his entire frame. He was drowning in it, the sheer, terrifying fullness of Vanta stretching him so wide he felt like he might actually split open.
"Vanta...nghhah...pleathe...don't...don't sto—m'gonna...gonn' break..." he let out a high, wobbling whine, his eyes glazed and unfocused as he chased the next peak of agony and bliss.
Vanta's heart hammered against his ribs, a wild, predatory drumbeat echoing the frantic tempo of their joining. Seeing Wilson so utterly shattered, so beautifully ruined by his touch, stoked a fire in Vanta's gut that demanded total dominance. He leaned down, his chest crushing against Wilson's sweat slicked back, his lips grazing the shell of the hitman's ear.
"Yeah? That's it, baby...take it all," Vanta growled, his voice a dark, honeyed caress. He loosened his grip on Wilson's hair just enough to massage the scalp, before tugging again to keep that gorgeous, arched neckline exposed. "Look at you...so fucking perfect."
"You're doing so good for me," he whispered, his thrusts becoming shallower but faster, more frantic, aiming to graze the most sensitive spots near the entrance. He felt Wilson's internal muscles beginning to seize, the telltale tremors of an impending climax.
A scream of bliss ripped from Wilson's lungs as Vanta's praise washed over him, sweeter and more intoxicating than the pheromones choking the air. The verbal comfort combined with the brutal, fluttering friction sent his sanity spiraling into a void of pure, unadulterated sensation. His insides were seizing, clamping around Vanta's length in frantic, uncoordinated pulses that signaled he was seconds away from coming undone.
Vanta continued the merciless snap of his hips as he leaned in closer, his movements becoming a relentless, heavy grind meant to push Wilson right over the precipice.
Then, the sensation changed. A sudden, heavy expansion bloomed deep within his core, a thick, stretching knotting that forced his hips to stall mid arch. The sheer, impossible pressure of the knot widening inside him made his eyes roll back, his breath hitching in a permanent, silent scream of overwhelmed nerves. He felt anchored, physically fused to the man behind him, the fullness so absolute it felt like his very soul was being claimed.
"Vanta...aaaahh~! It's...mmhhnn...it's too...s-sho big..." he whined, his voice a broken, weeping melody as he slumped forward, his forehead pressing into the mattress. The instinctual, biological urge of his heat flared into a desperate, frantic madness. He twisted his hips blindly, trying to pull the heavy, knotted weight even deeper into his womb. "Uwaaahh...fill me...please...! Vanta...put your pups in me~!"
"Fuck, Wilson...! I'm gonna—" Vanta's words were cut off as he roared, his voice cracking with lust and desire. As his knot expanded, stretching Wilson's walls to their absolute limit, Vanta felt the first hot, torrential surge of his own climax. He surged forward one last time, burying himself so deeply that there wasn't a hair's breadth of space left between them. He held Wilson tight, his arms wrapping around the smaller man's trembling waist to keep him pinned as he began to unload.
The sensation was volcanic. Thick, hot ropes of seed pumped into Wilson's core, the volume so immense it felt like a pressurized flood. Vanta groaned, a long, harrowing sound of release, as he emptied himself into the gaping, knot-stretched cavity of his boyfriend. He could feel the frantic, rhythmic contractions of Wilson's womb trying to draw every single drop of him in, desperately milking him dry.
Vanta collapsed against Wilson's sweating back, his heavy chest heaving in sync with the hitman's ragged sobs.
A tremulous sigh rattled in Wilson's chest as the heavy, pulsating knot finally began to recede, leaving him feeling hollowed out yet impossibly full. He could feel the hot, viscous tide of Vanta's seed pooling deep within him, a thick and heavy warmth that felt as though it were rooting itself into his very core.
His muscles continued to twitch in involuntary aftershocks, his insides spasming around the receding length as if trying to trap every precious drop of the man behind him. Weak and spent, he let his forehead sink into the damp sheets, his breath coming in shallow, shuddering hiccups. The overwhelming scent of musk and their shared arousal made his head spin, blurring the edges of the dim room.
Slowly, tentatively, he reached back with a trembling hand, his fingers searching for Vanta's arm to anchor himself against the drifting sensation of exhaustion.
Vanta didn't pull out just yet. He remained anchored deep inside Wilson, the cooling knot still providing a heavy, grounding fullness that kept them fused. He shifted slightly, sliding his arms beneath Wilson's limp body to pull him backward until the hitman was tucked flush against his chest, a tangle of sweaty limbs and tangled sheets.
"C'mere," Vanta murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble against the nape of Wilson's neck. He pressed soft, lingering kisses to the damp skin there, his large hands moving with newfound gentleness to soothe the tremors racking Wilson's frame.
As the initial haze of the climax began to settle into a heavy, comfortable lethargy, Vanta's hand wandered downward. He slid his palm beneath, finding the pale, soft expanse of Wilson's belly. It felt taut and slightly distended from the sheer volume of his potent seed.
With a slow, reverent motion, Vanta began to rub the skin in soothing, clockwise circles. His touch was careful, mindful of the sensitivity, but he couldn't help the smirk that tugged at his lips as he felt the slight, unnatural swell of Wilson's abdomen.
"Look at you," Vanta whispered, his thumb tracing the curve of Wilson's stomach where the knot had recently been most prominent. "So full of me. You look like you're already carrying my pups, baby."
A faint, exhausted huff of laughter escaped Wilson’s lips, though it was quickly swallowed by another shaky breath. He leaned his head back against Vanta’s solid shoulder, his eyes half lidded and hazy with a post coital glow that bordered on delirium. The teasing comment made a flush creep up his neck, warmer than the feverish heat of his skin.
"Shut up," he rasped, though there was absolutely no bite in his tone, only a sleepy, fond exasperation. He reached down, his fingers weakly curling over Vanta's large hand to press it firmer against the distended curve of his belly.