The Aftermath (Dove and Damon)
By Byrne
Archived at Pastorale, Bellum Viri


Damon waited until Dove was in the shower before getting out bed. He'd more or less dragged Dove back to the apartment, taking advantage of his…well, of his advantage. Wasn't often that he had the upper hand with Dove. They'd tumbled through the door, already tearing at clothes, and didn't really make it all the way to undressed before rubbing off on each other.

But now Dove was in the shower and he'd cool down, start to think. Damon didn't want to be naked, in bed, when Dove came out. The way Damon figured it, things could only go two ways. Dove would leave, saying he'd be back soon and then he'd not come around for a week or more if at all, or Dove would get all geared up and just leave, looking for a party.

Damon had pushed, so Dove would push back.

He'd not been really sure he had a breaking point when it came to Dove and what he did. Then Simon had turned up again, and off stage, and Damon found his limit.

It wasn't so much that it was Simon. Not really. It was that Dove had taken it that one step too far. Damon knew Dove tricked, knew how he lived. The club, the drugs, the stealing…he knew it and accepted it.

But Damon wasn't about to let the guy he loved pay someone else to fuck him. Even if it was Simon. So what had he done? Slammed Dove into a wall, pulled him off in the street and said the words.

Damon sighed and reached for his jeans, pulling them on as he walked into the kitchen. He needed a drink, something strong and burning, something not unlike the cheap whiskey Dove favoured when he was upset and angry. So that's what he got.

He heard the water shut off in the bathroom and started to estimate time elapsing. If it was ten minutes then Dove was braiding his hair up and getting dressed, ready to leave. Nice and easy.

But it was well past that when the bathroom door opened and Dove went into the spare room, followed by the sounds of clothes being tossed around and muffled curses as Dove looked for something. Damon finished his drink as Dove headed back across the hall into the bathroom.

Going out, then. Looking for a party, and getting dressed to play. Dove always did shove back hard.

"Your mine," Damon had said in the street. And he whispered it again, as he poured another drink, knowing that if Dove left like this he wouldn't be back.

Damon was still standing in the kitchen, ankles crossed in front of him, when Dove came out of the bathroom.

His hair was loose and flowing, almost dry, but not quite, the white blond still dark at the ends. The ends were curling, he'd hate that when it was dry. Dove had on his black leather pants, low slung and undone, the leather clinging to his hips as he strode in, hair flying, strands wrapping around his arms. His eyes were intent, rimmed in black, the khole line thick and smudged just so. He looked stunning.

And he was hard, the head of his cock pushing out of his pants.

Damon stood straighter, setting the glass down on the counter beside him. "Going out?"

"No." Dove reached him, his hands going to Damon's shoulder and pushing him down, hard. Damon fell to his knees, his own shaft growing and filling at the unexpected show of dominance. "Going in," Dove growled.

Damon licked his lips, mouth opening as Dove pulled his cock out, not letting Dove play anymore games. Swiftly he wrapped a hand around the base of Dove's erection, his mouth already taking him in.

Dove was huge, Damon had never been able to take him all the way in like this. He didn't hope to try, just prayed Dove wouldn't choke him as he started to thrust. Hand and mouth worked together, wet and sliding as Damon sucked. His own prick twitched hard when Dove tangled his hands in Damon's hair, fucking his mouth in long deep strokes that were almost too much, but never quite too rough.

They were noisy. There were no words, just sounds; Dove's gasps as Damon pressed into the slit at the tip of his cock, a long groan from Damon as Dove's fingers tightened. It was fast and messy, wet and hot, and when Dove's cock swelled further Damon pulled back, bringing him off by hand.

Damon's hips snapped against nothing and he came in his pants when Dove's spunk coated his chest.

They sank to the floor, Dove not even bothering to keep his hair away from the mess. He'd need another shower.

"You're staying, then?" Damon asked.

Dove looked at him, one hand rubbing his belly, the other sliding over Damon's thigh. "Don't get it," he said softly. "Don't understand how or why…"

Damon shrugged. "Just is. Just do."

Dove shook his head and closed his eyes. "I'm a whore, Damon. Can't promise you anything. Can't even say I'll stay away from Simon. He comes into the club or whatever-it's money, man. That's what I do."

"I know," Damon said. He did. "Not asking you to change."

Dove opened his eyes. "Don't think I can."

"I think you can. I think you will. But I'm not going to demand it. Dove-you're who you are and that's what I want. You today, you next year."

Dove shook his head again. "You're cracked."

"You staying?"

"Yeah. I'm staying."