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Good Dog [Sekah & BlueAmbient]

The grip on Shoto's hand startles the boy, and he yanks his hand away without thinking. Upon doing so, however, one of his claws slices into the palm of Taiga's hand. Shoto notices right away, smelling blood. A panicked look crosses his face, and he shrinks in on himself. Words fall from his lips, a stream of apologies. Shoto looks like he may cry.

All the same, he gingerly takes Taiga's hand, bringing it to his mouth to lick at the cut. He's shaking, muscles rigid with fearful tension. Shoto murmurs plaintively against Taiga's bloodied hand. "I-I'm sorry, Sir, I shouldn't have done that. I'm s-sorry, please,, I'm trying to be good.."
 
Taiga hissed, more in startlement than pain, when the claw slices open his palm. He examines it. "Got me good," he laughed, clearly unconcerned - the boy's spilling out fountain of apologies says that wasn't a conscious attack, but an unconscious fearful reaction.

At least they hadn't beaten those out of him, too.

The pup began licking the blood, which wasn't exactly hygienic, and once again amused, since he's had injuries that would have made this puppy recoil in disgust and horror if he saw them in their heyday, he bet, he leaned down to the puppy's ears. Those little folds of fluff were irresistible. "It's alright boy, I know that was unintentional - a reflex. You're a very good boy. Please stop licking my hand, you're getting bacteria into the wound, sweetheart. But you know what you can do to make it up for me?" He pushed the glass forward an inch again. "Drink this, until you no longer feel thirsty, and you feel comfortable. Okay?"
 
Shoto looks up at Taiga as he speaks, whimpering again. This man makes him so uneasy, giving him things without taking anything. Despite Taiga's best efforts, Shoto is quickly developing a fear of the man, set in expected reactions, even if those reactions never come.

When Taiga presents him with the glass of water again, Shoto whines. This again? He's clearly uncomfortable, but takes the glass with shaking hands. Unfortunately, some of the water spills across Shoto's lap. But he finally does as Taiga wants, drinking down the water, and even crunching the ice between his teeth. The he puts the glass on the floor and moves backward away from Taiga, hopefully out of reach. His muscles are bunched, like he's ready to bolt. Shoto's heartbeat is pounding in his chest, a mess of miserable confusion.
 
Taiga nods in satisfaction. "I'm not gonna hurt you, Shoto. No punishment coming." He doubts the boy will believe him, but it was worth a try. He drunk down a bit of his own water, then sighed and headed to the next room, letting Shoto follow him or not, where he had a first aid kit.

The cut was common and shallow, and nothing Taiga was worried about. He brought the kit back in the kitchen, ignoring Shoto, and washed his hands with antibacterial soap, slid wound wash over the scratch, and covered it with a liquid bandage. When that had dried, he came over and flexed his hand, ignoring the stinging, and put it on Shoto's head. "Want to watch some TV with me while I get some work done?" he asked him, lips twitching into a smile.

He had a good idea of what Shoto thought was about to happen, and the only way to prove that instinct wrong, and eventually, hopefully, disengage it, was for the expected punishment to never happen.
 
Shoto flinches when Taiga stands to leave the room, pressing back against the cupboards behind him. His tail wraps around in front like a fluffy shield. The fear and expectation of punishment isn't quelled by his new master's words. When Taiga returns, Shoto watches him closely. He flinches again when the man puts his hand on his head. His purple eyes are scrunched shut.

When Taiga speaks, Shoto shivers, hands clutching at his tail. TV, Shoto knows what to do there. But.. Would his new master reject him again? Why had this man bought him, if not for his intended purpose? Was Shoto meant to just be a showpiece? A pretty thing to be kept in the house? "Y-yes, Sir.." Shoto's voice is small, trembling, and he moves to all fours to follow Taiga from the kitchen.
 
Taiga paused to grab a whole bottle of whiskey and a square cognac glass he intended to drink it out of. He put on The Handmaid's Tale from episode one, hoping by consistently playing media about people overcoming brutal brainwashing, he might help Shoto come to the conscious and subconscious realization of what his idiot masters had done.

He poured himself some whiskey and knocked it back like it was water, baring his teeth and letting out a satisfied ah. He already poured himself another, honey gold as he used his phone to turn the lights down in this room, and clicked the whiskey down on the glass side table. This was the main TV room - he had several, scattered around the house. He watched curiously to see what Shoto would do. It would be about thirty minutes until he was drunk, less if he downed that highball glass too early, which he was trying not to do - his niece was worried about his drinking.

He would probably do it anyway, though, tell the truth.
 
Shoto follows Taiga into the TV room, pausing while the man sits down. Then he moves to the spot he knows best, between Taiga's feet. The man is drinking; Shoto can smell the alcohol. He'd have to be careful. If he'd learned anything, it's that drunk men can become one of two things: violent, or even more sexually demanding. At least, that's what he'd learned at the brothel.

Settled between Taiga's legs, Shoto rests his hands on the man's thighs. He presses his cheek to Taiga's thigh, nuzzling, large purple eyes turned upward to watch his new master. Would he be rejected again? Would he let Shoto fulfill his purpose? Slowly, Shoto rubs his cheek further up Taiga's thigh. His tail isn't wagging, rather, it's laying half curled behind him, and his ears are twitching with nervousness.
 
Taiga's cock twitched, but lazy with good food and good drink, Taiga doesn't protest the nuzzles. They're cute, anyway, even if sensual. Taiga rests back against the couch, sighing, deciding on that second, quick drink of whiskey he shouldn't take.

He downs it like the other one. Like water. He'd be drunk fairly soon now. Especially if he drank this third one he was pouring.

It was the second to last of his addictions he hadn't been able to kick. Well, third. You'd think a man who'd kicked heroin could kick alcohol, but it was just around too much. Too many schmoozing meetings that served beer and wine. It was hard to get away from.

And cigarettes? It was fucking hard to relax, without 'em. And Taiga was a man who often found it hard to truly relax, off substances. His guard was up.

With the whiskey in his system and the earlier cigarette, he started feeling more free; he had less inhibitions. A joke in the show made him laugh, and spread his legs, and lean down to get more comfortable, unintentionally giving Shoto more access. He lay his head against the back of the couch and sighed, still nursing that halfsy Shoto'd given him, thinking about hiding in the bathroom and rubbing a quick one out.

His blood was up. No doubt of it. And he downed the third drink without thinking.

Three whiskey glasses in half an hour. He was really, rip-roaringly, drunk, now.
 
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When Taiga seems to ignore Shoto, he doesn't take that as a bad thing. For now, he rests his cheek on Taiga's thigh like a pillow, just ha[[y the man is letting him be closer. But when Taiga spreads his legs, Shoto's training tells him that's a signal he should never ignore. So Shoto rubs his nose along Taiga's thigh, moving inward, towards his groin. Nuzzling, fingers gently kneading the man's thighs.

Shoto reaches Taiga's groin without rejection, and nuzzles his nose right against the bulge. His tail sways slowly across the ground. Shoto rubs his nose against Taiga, slowly, lightly, but with enough pressure to be noticeable. After a handful of seconds, the wolf shifter mouths at Taiga's bulge, eager to do what he knows best.
 
Taiga has his eyes closed, enjoying the buzzed sensation. Really zen, for the moment, the ticklish feelings along his thighs ignored. The tickle of Shoto's nose and slight, warm sensation of his breath on Taiga's trapped cock stirs it, but Taiga's too zoned out to put two and two together.

Then Shoto latches his talented little mouth over it. Taiga's head shot up, a warm, wet gasp leaving him. His hips jerk up into that hot pleasure. His cock finishes filling in an instant, now bulging and ready to play, wanting to feel the skill in Shoto's mouth down to the root, down to the throat, down every inch. Taiga watches, his drunken eyes dark and liquid in the low light of the room, dark as night with the lights turned so low and no windows.

He wants this.

Then his sense swims down from below the alcohol.

He can't have it.

His hand reaches down and tangles in Shoto's hair. He's trying to get the will to gently push Shoto away; he wants to grab a fistful and pull him in deeper, guide him. He swallowed thickly, his underwear and pants making his cock ache, which only turned him on more. He liked pain with his pleasure.

"Shoto..." he groaned, those talented lips massaging his swollen sack through the flimsy cloth of his tailored suit pants and gucci boxers.

He throws his head back, panting. It had been a while. It had been a while since he went to Tyche or some bar and picked up some hot slut or stud and fucked the night away. He was pent up.

This was dangerous.

This was tantamount to rape, something he never wanted to do, at least not without a literal or figurative gun to his head.

Taiga whined. His hips bucked. He wanted it.

"Shoto . . . stop."

But he ground into that face, and that hand in his soft hair didn't push. Didn't pull him close, either, just rested there, while Taiga's leg strained. He wanted to rip down his pants and fuck Shoto's mouth, hard, sloppy, hear him gag.

But he couldn't.

He couldn't.

Could he?
 
Every upward movement of Taiga's hips only encourages Shoto. His mouth moves, massaging, lips working along the now fully hardened length. Or at least, what he could get at through the dress pants. Down to his sac, back up to the clothed length of his master's cock. Shoto can hear the sounds Taiga is making, and presses his tongue against the slowly wetting fabric.

The hand in his hair makes his nervous, but only for a moment. It's just resting there, fingers in his hair. The man's words are covered by the sound in his voice of his enjoyment, so Shoto doesn't take them seriously. Taiga grinds his groin up against Shoto's face, and the pup lets out a little sound of excitement. Excitement that he can do what he knows best, and please his master.

Shoto's mouth moves again, upward this time, to the button and zipper. With the ease of forced practice, Shoto opens both with teeth and tongue. Then his small hands slide up Taiga's thighs, shifting the fabric at his hips around enough to take out Taiga's cock and sac. Those hands stroke Taiga softly, while Shoto's mouth lavishes Taiga's sac. Tongue licking, gently sucking, Shoto peers up at Taiga past the cock above his face, purple eyes wide in a vulnerable expression. SHoto's eagerness to please Taiga proves that expression to be one of appeasement, meant to look attractive.
 
He looks so fucking willing. It's hard, and it's amazing, and Taiga is weak.

Taiga has an addictive personality. He's taken it to gambling, alcohol, cigarettes, opioids, even worse things, on occasion. And from the first moment he slides down Taiga's pants as Taiga musters an attempt to dissuade him, from the instant his throbbing cock is fished out and he felt those incredibly talented lips on his bare skin, he felt the pull of addiction he knew so well.

this was rape. This man had been tortured, trained, forced into believing this was all he was good for, what he was meant for. He could not, he should not indulge.

"Shoto, sto-o-op," he tries again, but his hips are starting to wind, laying back bonelessly, hand still in his hair. "Shoto, this isn't good," he tried, but he knew he wasn't trying hard enough. He was on a knife's edge. His guilty dilemma made the pleasure more intense, more rushed and hot, evil and yes, addictive. Better than any lay he'd had in years. The first time someone touched him with a skill on his own level, a skill earned with the thoroughness of fear of death, fear of pain. Oh, shit. This was not good. But he wasn't sober, and he didn't have enough clarity of mind to truly stop himself - to stop them both.

Now he knew what those Johns felt like when he was still 16, 17, and he didn't look legal, and they'd mutter sorry in his ears at the end, rushed and hot and thick with guilt, or press two hundred dollars in his hands or a diamond ring he'd have to give over to management anyway, imagining to themselves they were helping this poor kid get out, instead of further enriching his owners.

The guild of using someone's body without real consent. A guilt he felt, but only when he had no choice. A guilt he never wanted to feel with full range of choice and autonomy.

"Shoto . . ." he moaned, and that wasn't anything dissuading at all, now was it?
 
Shoto is in his trained element. This, he knows how to do. When Taiga says this isn't good, Shoto takes that to mean he isn't trying enough, and changes tactics. His tongue travels from Taiga's sac to his shaft, licking along the underside. Little, featherlight licks mix with full swipes of his tongue, from base to tip and down again. His lips run along the length, hands moving in perfect timing, stroking wherever his tongue is not.

Shoto keeps looking up at Taiga, looking for hints, for signs that the man may want something else. Sometimes, his old masters would stop him there and fuck him instead. But when all Taiga does is moan his name, Shoto is spurred on, tongue traveling up the hot, hard length again. Now, his lips close around the tip, hands stroking smoothly while his tongue licks and swirls around the head. Light suction is added, and it's like Shoto is sucking on a lollipop; enjoying every moment of it despite not getting any physical pleasure. But of course Shoto enjoys it, he'd been trained to.
 
Taiga is squirming, the well-worked whore embarrassed enough to be a virgin again. Those lips are talented, that tongue is sublime. Always the right pressure, always the right sensation.

That light sucking, that gentle sucking, is driving him mad. He'd had enough teasing. He was getting urges you wouldn't believe, to use Shoto's head like a cocksleeve, to skullfuck him and deposit his cum straight in his belly.

He'd done it before -

- to willing partners.

Truly willing, not this fake shit.

"Fuck," he snarled out, and blew out a sigh, panting. It was too light for him. He liked it rough, he always had.

It was -

"Shoto stop."

"Shoto, stop."

"Shoto, please, stop!"

But the tight snarl of desire in his voice put the lie to his words. The fact that his legs spilled out wider, inviting Shoto in, and hips began to pump upwards in short, jerking jolts, rendered them meaningless. He'd always been relatively weak to good sensations, to pleasure. It was part of why he was an addict. When something felt good, he didn't do it once. He chased the sensation. He savored it. He did it over and over again.

He felt his cock start to slide deeper into this pup's mouth from his pumping hips, and his fingers, trying finally to push, stopped once they felt those plush, velveteen ears . . .

. . . he was fucking doomed.
 
Shoto whines at the man's words, nearly stopping. But Taiga's body language says otherwise, and Shoto takes that to mean the words are a trap. So Shoto moves closer, relaxes as Taiga's hips start pushing upward. There's pressure on the back of his head, but only for a moment. The touch to his ears makes them flick, before perking forward. Taiga's moving hips push his cock deeper, and Shoto relaxes into a well-known routine.

Shoto open his mouth wider, tongue licking and pressing to the underside of the hard shaft. His head moves, bobbing to meet those upward motions. His hands stroke the base, while his mouth learns the size and shape of the man. Soft suckling turns to eager sucking, lips wet with saliva sliding along hot flesh. Shoto even hums around the cock in his mouth, adding vibrations to the mix. One hand moves down, cupping and gently rubbing Taiga's sac. Purple eyes peek up past dark lashes to watch Taiga's face.
 
Taiga's handsome face is beginning to redden in a sex flush. His teeth are bared as he pants a feral expression. At some point - at some point, he gives up. Hang morality. He'd train this boy not to think of this as his role, as his duty, as his only right. But -

- he couldn't help but take what was so freely given.

The conflict was on his face, in his movements. For a while he was gentle, pumping upwards and starting to softly pet the pup's head. He was gasping from the firm suckling, like his cock gave mother's milk, wet lips caressing him until his whole abdomen was a molten pool of fire, and those nice tingles were running up and down his cock.

But then his real desires - his darker desires - pushed through. He needed more. And he hated himself for even asking.

But he hated himself for many things. This was just a new reason to add to the pile.

He reached down and held Shoto's head still. He slid his cock free of that welcoming hole. At first, it seemed his more noble instincts had won out, his red shaft veined and bulging in the cool airconditioning, connected to Shoto's pink lips by lines of spittle.

"Shoto," he growled, "I hope one day I can ask you this and truly trust your answer. But I know nothing we say together tonight will mean consent. Sweetheart, against my better judgement, I'm going to fuck your mouth. But I want you to tap my thigh if this gets to much, if you need breath, if you need a break, if your mouth is tired, for any reason. Please. Please, Shoto. You don't know how much I'd hate myself if one day I found out today, you suffered, and hid it from me. I'm begging you."

"Can you do that for me? An answer like your old master wanted isn't what master wants. Master wants the truth."

He read his body language, searched his face, tried to see if he could see the lie, if Shoto gave him a false promise he never intended to keep.
 
Shoto whines when his 'duty' is taken away from him, those strong hands holding his head. The pup licks his lips, breaking the strand of saliva. Ears perked forward, Shoto listens to Taiga, though it doesn't really make sense to him. Even still, he gives the man a bright smile, purple eyes catching what little light there is in the room. Shoto tilts his head in Taiga's hands. His voice is light, no hint of a lie. "Yes, Sir."

Shoto waits a moment longer, watching Taiga's face, before he leans forward again, lightly pulling his head from Taiga's hands. The wet heat of his mouth is on the man's cock again, but this time, it's reaching further. Shoto arches his neck, relaxing his jaw. Every time his head bobs down, more of Taiga's cock sinks into his mouth. Firm suction accompanies Shoto's tongue, pressed flat and sliding along the hard shaft. Saliva makes the motions feel like wet silk.
 
There was no sign he could tell, nothing whatsoever shown, that it was a lie.

Except that it most likely was.

Except that it was a narrow segment of the population who truly enjoyed that kind of rough skull-fucking, the brutal pumping down their throat, the sloppy spit, the red face and barely enough air. Taiga was one of them. He loved choking on a man's cock, even got off on passing out.

But there was absolutely no way to tell, whatsoever, if this beautiful little thing actually enjoyed that kind of play, or was agreeing out of that stupid, poisonous training - and the latter was far more likely.

He wanted to.

He wanted to.

His hand clenched in Shoto's hair, his hips buzzed with the desire to jam his cock down Shoto's throat to the very root and feel him choke.

He couldn't. This was bad enough, without proper consent. He couldn't do something like that.

He rolled his eyes into the back of his head and flopped back down onto the couch. His eyes were closed. He lay there, body unmoving, as Shoto sucked his cock, which jumped and twitched at the pleasure.

Finally he hissed. It was such a nice blowjob too. "You're lying," Taiga said. "Or maybe you don't think you are, but you are. Maybe you don't know the difference anymore, shit. I can't do this." This time he took his cock out of the pup's gorgeous, silken mouth and pushed him gently back by the shoulder. "I can't. This is beyond wrong."

He began to tuck himself away, groaning deeply at the feel of his own hand. He was pretty goddamn close, but he wasn't going to finish this way. Bathroom, definitely. Away from this incubus he'd knowingly brought into his life.
 
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Shoto doesn't seem to notice Taiga's struggle, happily sucking the man's cock, head bobbing up and down. But there's those word again, those confusing words that don't make sense to Shoto. Taiga pushes him away, and a whimper leaves Shoto's mouth. His hands curl, gripping the fabric of Taiga's pants. What's wrong with Shoto that Taiga would wait until now to reject him?

Taiga's groan catches Shoto's attention. The man is still so hard, so what is he doing? Is this some kind of test? Shoto tries again, fingers lightly touching Taiga's wrists. His purple eyes meet Taiga's wide, pleading. "Please, Sir, let me help you." Shoto's voice is soft and sweet as his hands move to brush Taiga's away. Once again, Shoto presses in close, licking, suckling, along the hard length. His tail is swaying, like a happy pup. If this is a test, then Shoto will just have to show his new master his skill.

Shoto takes a deep breath and relaxes his jaw. Eyes half lidded, focused on the task at hand, his head lowers smoothly. Further, further, until his lips touch the base and his nose presses to Taiga's abdomen. He stays there, suckling, even swallowing, throat constricting around the thick cock. Several heartbeats turn into several seconds, then a full minute. Shoto lifts his head, only to take another deep breath and go right back down. One hand drops to his own lap, palming himself through the soft cotton pants he'd been forced to dress in.

Shoto is hard too, training making his eagerness translate to his own pleasure. But Shoto isn't allowed to cum without permission, so he only presses on his own groin, refuses to give himself any friction. Again and again, Shoto lifts his head, takes a deep breath, then swallows down the entire lenth of Taiga's cock.
 
Taiga was not a man whose morals were, shall we say, pure. He was comfortable, in general, on the blacker side of gray.

That was a nicer way of saying he made his living in murder, and men had been tortured because of him, before him, even by him.

This had been his line. This had been the thing he didn't do, the thing he strategically removed from the organization. The thing the victims of the old regime had been compensated for heavily, given care and protection from, gotten to walk away from, while he still worked with former rapists of his every day.

This was the one thing he could ever hope to point to and say he wasn't as black as they painted, and so he'd always been quite protective of it.

But maybe his morals just hadn't been tested to this level. Maybe he'd just not been in the situation of being sober and a drunk or high hottie was trying hard to get in his pants.

Maybe his last moral standing just hadn't been truly tested yet.

It seemed that way, because in the end, with only three shots of whiskey in his veins, he folded like a stack of cards.

His hands fell away like they were weak, even though he was a powerful man, a strong man, a man with a punch that could crack skulls and break jaws, a man other men were afraid of.

That was what he wanted, oh fuck yeah, deep and hard, the boy so well-trained it wasn't sloppy, taking every inch like it belonged in his tight throat.

"Jesus," Taiga breathed out, and then added a choice curse in his native language, Japanese, which he rarely spoke anymore, except with his family and occasional business with the Yakuza.

He put the heel of his hand to his head, couldn't take it anymore, and grabbed Shoto's curls. He looked down into those alluring sliver eyes, and he began to pump. Deep, rich rolls of his hips force-fed that fat cock down into Shoto's throat, ground there.

"Good puppy, go-od puppy," he husked, and those hips pushed and pushed deeper, a feral look in his eyes, a hungry curl to his lips.

Perhaps, for Shoto, a look very reminiscent of old clients and masters.

Taiga felt dirty. He'd felt dirty plenty of times before in his life, though. This was no exception. He felt dirty when he was eighteen, and Cortez had murdered his brother to finally be sure he could trust him, and he'd put a Glock in his hand and told him to kill a man. Taiga'd desperately wanted to kill Cortez instead. But he'd brought up the gun like he'd felt nothing. And despite the man's pleas, he'd shot.

It was that kind of precipice he was jumping off now, free-falling, giving Shoto plenty of chances to breathe, as guilt settled in like the absolute ecstasy in his balls, shame, shamefully, only making this hotter.

He held Shoto down for a minute again. Then two, really testing him, before letting him up, to breathe. Taiga's thick cock was sopping with Shoto's spit and inner juices. The final he barely got it to the root before he was cumming, bucking into him, feet kicking, eyes rolling, deep groans spilling out of his mouth. The kind of cum you write home about.

Then he pushed him off his cock and abruptly tucked himself away, face stormy, eyes black. He left the whiskey and the show still running, and all his good intentions left behind with it, as he blew out in search of a shower, a shave, and a way to feel just a modicum less dirty than that made him.
 
Shoto makes a small sound of surprise as Taiga grips his hair. But he doesn't seem at all phased when the man starts thrusting. In fact, he leans into it, sucking and licking when he can, breathing when given the chance. His throat constricts and tightens when he swallows around the thick cock, saliva dripping down his chin.

Every time Taiga would hold his head down, Shoto would hum, moan, any little bit of extra vibration and pleasure he could give the man. Sure, his face would turn red, his chest would ache for breath. But Shoto never pulled away, never asked for mercy, didn't need to. Years of training overrode his own discomfort.

When Taiga hit his climax, bucking against his face, spilling into his throat, Shoto swallows repeatedly. He barely tastes the sticky saltiness for the depth of the cock, which makes it easy not to lose a single drop. Shoto keeps swallowing, keeps sucking, until Taiga pushes him away. The pup's tongue lolls out of his mouth as he breathes hard, chest heaving, but it's a smile on his face, like he's proud he made Taiga cum. That smile fades when Taiga storms out of the room, clearly angry. Had it not been enough? But he didn't give Shoto a chance to do more, so maybe it was something else?

Shoto follows after Taiga, wincing at the gentle friction the movement of his soft pants causes across his own erection. Shoto isn't small by any means, but he's certainly no match for Taiga's size. The difference is the knot at Shoto's base, another attribute of his wolf shifter nature. Shoto follows Taiga's scent through the house, to the closed door of a bathroom. Closed means private, which in turn, means Shoto isn't allowed in. So he sits by the door, waiting. Eventually, he finally sheds the clothing he's wearing, feeling too hot, and not liking the friction of fabric on his erection. Shortly after, tired from the days events and repeated confusions, Shoto falls asleep, curled on his side in front of the bathroom door, tail hugged to his chest.
 
Taiga used the sitting shower and long soak in his massive black marble tub as time to put himself back together. To get himself ready for bed, sure, but also, afterward, to do his toilette, the kinds of things a man had to do to come out looking like he did, to shave himself down past the hint of shadow, to make himself - presentable.

If it was meant to make him feel less dirty, it didn't help.

He came out in a bathrobe, his dirty clothes left where the maid would know to launder them and take them to the dry-cleaner, having attempted to forget the dilemma of the shifter in his home until he opened the door and found his soft ear falling on his foot. He stared down at him. Grunted, wishing he were wearing more than a satin robe.

He bundled the wolf up in his arms, soft and careful, keeping the sliding door to the bath from closing on his ear, and cradled him easily in his arms, those ears tucked up under his chin, as he carried him towards a guest bedroom near his own. It was still only early evening, and Taiga was a late sleeper, but after crossing his own moral lines, Taiga was ready to do a little gaming and get lost in oblivion.
 
Shoto makes little sound when picked up, just barely anything more than a quiet hum. His fingers curl in their light grip on his tail, ears flicking against Taiga's neck as the touch creates a tickle reflex. Shoto's erection from the earlier events has of course gone down, and his groin is mostly hidden by his hugged tail anyway. Despite being asleep, however, Shoto seems to be aware he's being carried, as his head turns toward Taiga's chest, warm breath felt through the thin fabric of the satin robe.

Upon arriving at the guest bedroom, Shoto blearily opens his eyes when Taiga goes to set him down. He doesn't seem to be awake enough to process the change in location, just letting his body be laid on the bed. He blinks, purple eyes unfocused, before rolling over and curling back into a ball, tail draped over his waist and hands gripping the pillow beneath his head. His eyes close again, breath deepening as he returns to full sleep. Even as he does, though, the lean muscles in his back and shoulders occasionally twitch, like a reaction of some dream movement.
 
He's cute.

No; he's beautiful. Long legs; a face that belonged airbrushed in a magazine, especially those pornstar lips; a serpentine back with that delicate indent of a spine, sides gently rising and falling with each breath, leading down to an ass Taiga once would have pitched to Cortez for property with words like liquid gold; it'll sell itself.

He was becoming more like that bastard every day. The older he got - the less distance there was between them. The farther he drifted from that scared sixteen-year-old kid who'd been dragged into his office, who'd just gotten into MIT after graduating two years early, and wanted to be a rocket scientist.

Even if the silly little thing didn't realize, Taiga had raped him tonight.

Taiga'd be living with the guilt of that one for a long, long time. He stood in the doorway for a minute longer than he should have, despairing to learn that not only was his new incubus bound and determined to get inside his pants in the most insidious and effective ways possible, he absolutely disdained of putting on clothes. Taiga had always preferred his bitches undressed; not in thigh-highs, not in thongs, not in leather - nude. Shoto was a biological weapon designed by sadists to destroy what little morals Taiga had standing.

Taiga made a mental note to have Shoto's old masters visited in prison.

A long visit.

One they wouldn't leave alive.

He lit a cigarette in the doorway to calm his itching nerves, and then left, to his own bedroom, where he stripped the robe and got into bed. He hated sleeping clothed; even wearing boxers when he visited his parents felt like a big concession. And these were fucking expensive sheets and blankets, each set tens of thousands apiece. Best to feel them on bare skin, don't you think?

He turned his Playstation 5 on with his voice, played Destiny 2 for no better reason than it required absolutely no concentration but didn't let him think, the closest he could come to filling his brain with white noise, and went to sleep four or five hours at least earlier than he did on a typical night, and much earlier than that when he was out clubbing.
 
At some point in the very early morning, Shoto rolled over to the cold side of the guest bed. The cool sheets brought him awake, and he sits up with a small huff, rubbing his eyes. His jaw has the faintest of aches, nothing like he's accustomed to when he'd been serving parties of men, rather than just one. He's still tired, but the unfamiliar environment has him looking around in the darkness. Nervousness creeps into his chest, and he crawls out of the bed, then heads into the hall, looking for some sense of recognition. In the dark, the hallway looks like a never ending tunnel to the poor boy, but he soon picks up on the scent of another person. Even though Taiga had showered, Shoto had memorized his scent enough to pick it up beneath the smells of his body wash, shampoo, shaving gel and such.

Down the hall Shoto goes, pushing open the ajar door to Taiga's bedroom. Curiosity gets the better of his sleepy brain, and he keeps stopping to sniff items on his way to the bed. But he's quiet, making no sound. Shoto's previous master, owner of the illegal brotherl, had frequently kept Shoto in his bed at night, claiming Shoto had been his most prized pet and didn't want to risk someone breaking in to steal him. So Shoto thinks nothing of climbing up onto the bed and shimmying under the blankets. He curls up beside Taiga's hip, turned toward him, his head resting on the man's stomach. His arms fold between Taiga's hip and his own chest, and his tail wraps over Shoto's hip, and across Taiga's thigh. Comfortable and warm now, Shoto falls back to sleep, lulled by the slight movement of Taiga's body as he breathes.
 
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