Page 124 of Discordant Cultivation

Kieran made a broken sound, hands fisting in the sheets beside his head like he needed something to anchor himself to. “This is—I can’t—”

Vale added a second finger, scissoring them slowly to open him up, thrusting in a steady rhythm that grazed his prostate with each pass, drawing slick sounds and involuntary bucks of Kieran’s hips. The prep was thorough, tantalizing—curling and twisting to build that coiling pleasure, pre-cum dripping from Kieran’s cock onto his stomach as his body embraced the sensations. Vale abandoned all pretense: no more education, just the savage desire to possess, to consume, to fuck him senseless until their bodies fused in ecstatic ruin.

“It h-hurts,” Kieran whimpered.

“All beautiful things hurt,” Vale said, pressing a kiss to his hip. “You know that better than anyone.”

Vale watched Kieran’s face as he worked, watching for the precise moment when resistance shifted to reluctant participation, when Kieran’s hands stopped trying to dig through the mattress. The transformation was exquisite—fear bleeding into something honest.

“That’s it,” Vale crooned. “Stop fighting what your body wants. Let it speak.”

Kieran’s breath came in shallow gasps, tears streaming down his temples as he surrendered to the sensation he’d tried so hard to deny. Soft moans escape his lips with little pants as his hands twisted in the sheets.

But even as Kieran trembled beneath his hands and pushed down on his fingers, chasing the sensation, Vale knew it wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be enough. Because what he wanted wasn’t just Kieran’s body responding—he wanted everything. He would erase every boundary until Kieran didn’t know where he ended and Vale began.

He pulled back slightly, studying Kieran’s face—his brow furrowed, lips parted around desperate breaths, cheeks red and wet with tears. Wrecked and honest in a way words could never be.

“You’re doing so well,” Vale said, and the praise was genuine. “But we’re not finished yet, sweetheart.”

Kieran’s eyes opened, hazy and confused and terrified. “What do you m-mean?”

Vale’s hand settled possessively over Kieran’s chest, feeling his heart race. “Your song asked what happens when you give in to the fear and desire. We’re almost there.”

He watched understanding dawn in those wide brown eyes as Kieran realized this wasn’t the whole lesson, just the opening movement of a much longer composition.

“I can’t,” Kieran whispered, but there was no strength behind it. Just exhaustion and the terrible awareness that he’d already surrendered too much to take it back now.

“You can,” Vale said with absolute certainty as he withdrew his fingers. “And you will. Because we’re going to finish your song together. Every verse. Every note. Until you can’t remember what it felt like to think there was a difference between wanting me and being afraid of me.”

Kieran’s breath hitched, a broken sound that might have been protest or surrender or both at once.

It was the music of his soul’s surrender.

“Let’s begin.”

38

To be your canvas, be your song, your poem written in scars; To be your moon that's only bright reflecting violent stars…

Kieran

“Let’s begin.”

The words hung in the air like a death sentence, and Kieran’s entire body went rigid with terror that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with the last wall inside him that was about to crumble.

This is lesson territory. This is basement stuff. Up here is where Vale is nice and kind and gentle. Not this.

There’s a wall…

But Vale’s weight shifted above him, his hard cock pressing insistently against Kieran’s entrance, slick with lube and pre-cum, nudging that final line that hadn’t been crossed. Kieran’s mind screamed the truth his mouth couldn’t form: the walls had always been a lie. A desperate fiction he’d built to keep himself sane between the lessons, a way to accept Vale’s gentle affection between the painful places without feeling guilt.

Kieran’s breath came in shallow gasps. “Please—I can’t—this isn’t—”

“Breathe, sweetheart,” Vale whispered as he kissed Kieran’s neck. His hands gripped Kieran’s thighs so hard he was certainthey would bruise, keeping them spread open so even if Kieran tried to resist again, he wouldn’t be able to. “Want and terror share the same breath. Breathe it out.”

No. No, because if he’s right, that means—

Vale moved, slow and deliberate, breaching him with a searing burn that made Kieran’s vision white out and a cry tear from his throat, the pressure building like fire as inch after inch forced its way inside.