The Claiming
“Climb onto the bed. On your hands and knees.”
Damon’s voice was flat and controlled, the tone of someone accustomed to giving orders.
Niko was too turned on to care.
He glanced over as he obeyed. Damon stood motionless, like a carved statue in a temple alcove—still, broad-shouldered, intimidating in the dim light. The sight made a shiver run down Niko’s spine.
“Hurry up,” Damon growled, eyes narrowing.
Niko’s heart lurched. “Sorry, sir… I mean, Damon,” he corrected quickly as he climbed onto the bed on all fours.
The reprimand only heightened the heat flooding through him.
Unsure which direction to face, he turned toward the back wall. At least that way his chitoniskos concealed his arousal, hanging heavy between his legs. He felt so aroused he was terrified the slightest touch might undo him completely.
He risked a glance over his shoulder. Damon had folded his arms and was simply staring at him—assessing him, judging him, waiting.
“Face away from me,” Damon ordered. “Ass over the edge.”
Niko shifted instantly, his face burning.
Maybe he doesn’t like looking at his lovers when he fucks.
Or maybe he just doesn’t want to look at me—
His thoughts scattered as fingers lifted the hem of his chitoniskos, the cool night air brushing over his exposed ass. Damon didn’t bother undressing him, just pushed the fabric up around his waist with a mechanical, almost ritualistic efficiency. The position reminded Niko of quick, urgent encounters behind taverns.
He hated how much that thought made his pulse throb.
Then—nothing.
Damon went silent. Still. Waiting behind him.
The anticipation was unbearable. Niko’s mind raced with every breath Damon wasn’t taking, every second of stillness. He wanted to turn just to see him—but fear of Damon’s displeasure held him perfectly still, trembling, exposed, the pendant bearing Damon’s crest hanging cold against his chest.
Just as the tension was about to break him—
A warm tongue touched him.
“Oh gods, Damon—”
A sharp smack cracked across his skin, the sound ringing in the quiet room.
“You will be quiet.”
Niko whimpered but obeyed, clamping his mouth shut, eyes squeezed closed. Damon resumed his work—slow, deliberate, unhurried—each pass of breath and heat sending shivers up Niko’s spine. The scrape of Damon’s beard against his inner thighs only made it worse.
It was overwhelming. No one had ever given him this kind of attention, this kind of focus, this kind of hunger.
He pushed back without thinking, chasing more, desperate for Damon to go deeper. His fingers found the sheets and clenched tight.
Eventually the warmth disappeared. Damon pulled away, leaving Niko slick and shivering at the sudden absence.
It was soon replaced by something far heavier, hotter, and intimate.
Then something new pressed forward—heavier, hotter, unmistakably intimate.
Niko’s breath caught. Panic briefly fluttered in his chest.
How can that even fit? How much is this going to hurt?
“Damon, I—”
Another sharp slap on his ass cut him off, heat blooming where it landed.
“Silence, boy.”
Damon pushed in.
The force of his cock stole Niko’s breath. Heat, pressure, stretch—all of it blending into a dizzying rush. He grabbed the sheets, knuckles whitening, jaw locked as he tried not to cry out.
“You can take me, Niko. It’s what you’ve chosen.”
The low rumble of Damon’s voice grounded him. He nodded, eyes watering, breath ragged. Slowly, the intensity shifted—pain ebbing, something else rising in its place.
Pleasure burned through him like fire.
Damon’s hands gripped his hips, strong, steady, unyielding. The rhythm that followed was deliberate at first—measured—then began to build.
Niko moaned into the sheets despite himself.
Damon’s grip was iron. The pace quickened, deepening, intensifying, sending bursts of sensation through Niko so strong his entire body trembled with every movement. Damon didn’t speak, but the quiet panting behind him gave him away—the loss of control creeping in.
Niko couldn’t think. His world narrowed to rhythm and heat and helpless, breathless pleasure. All he could do was cling to the bedding and try to keep any sound from tearing out of his throat.
Soon, Damon’s movements became sharper and hungrier, a low grunt tearing from him as urgency overtook precision.
Niko had a fleeting, desperate wish to turn around, to see Damon’s face, to kiss him as he was claimed—
—but Damon made a deep, guttural sound and stilled, his body trembling as he finished inside his young partner.
Niko didn’t even realize he’d cum too until the tension snapped out of him and he collapsed onto the bed, breathless and shaking, Damon still inside him.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Damon withdrew and stepped back. Niko turned his head in time to watch him dress—fast, efficient, not meeting his eyes. Sandals slipped on. Tunic adjusted. Composure regained.
Damon looked toward the door.
“Niko,” he said quietly but firmly. “I have claimed you.”
And without another word, he left, closing the door behind him.
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