Page 125 of Discordant Cultivation

“S-stop,” Kieran choked out. “Pl-please.” It hurt, a deep, unrelenting ache radiating through his core, his muscles clenching instinctively against the invasion, tears springing fresh as his body rebelled against the fullness. He gasped for breath, trying to twist away.

“Shh, breathe through it,” Vale groaned. “Relax for me, sweetheart—focus on the sensation, not the fear.” He paused halfway, one hand moving to stroke Kieran’s side soothingly, the other pinning his hip to keep him still.

“It–it h-hurts,” Kieran whimpered. “P-please—”

“I love you,” Vale whispered against his lips, the words slipping out soft and fervent, repeated like a mantra as he eased deeper. “I love you. I love you so much—please, Kieran, let me show you how much I love you.”

The declarations hit like a balm and a blade, twisting Kieran’s resistance as he felt like he was being ripped in half.

Kieran just whimpered as the burn softened into a throbbing heat as Vale stopped pushing forward. The sensation shifted from pure pain to something fuller, more invasive, his mind still screaming in denial even as his nerves began to spark with unwelcome flickers of pleasure.

He said he loves me. He said it.

No…

He tried to push Vale away, to deny the heat building low in his gut, but Vale’s hand clamped around his wrist, pinning it painfully to the mattress.

“Don’t fight,” Vale huffed, nipping at his ear. “Let me in…let me love you.”

Kieran made a broken sound, his hands fisting in the sheets as Vale began to move, but underneath the ache, with each slow thrust, was a growing warmth that spread up his spine as his thoughts fragmented.

“Tell me what you feel,” Vale groaned. “I need to hear it, how—mmhm fuck—how much you want this.”

“I—” Kieran’s chest heaved, catching on an ugly sob, “It’s h-hot. In…inside m-my body.”

“What else?” Vale’s thrusts gained rhythm, pushing deeper as he shuddered. “Fuck, you feel so good, Kieran. So fucking tight and hot and perfect. I love you so much, you know that, right?”

Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything.

But his body was already answering—arches and gasps and involuntary sounds that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with the terrible honesty of flesh, his own cock twitching against his stomach, leaking pre-cum as Vale continued, the friction igniting nerves he couldn’t ignore. His mind quieted further, his thoughts dissolving into pure feeling: the slick drag inside him, the building heat coiling tighter up his spine with each movement.

“It feels—” The words caught in his throat, a confession and condemnation, but the physical pull was overriding the mental chaos. “G-good—”

“That’s it, sweetheart, just feel good,” Vale panted. His hand found Kieran’s throat again, and Kieran’s body responded with Pavlovian certainty—thattouch meant safety, meant belonging, meant home. The contradiction was devastating: terror andtrust, pain and pleasure, resistance and surrender all existing in the same breath, blending into a growing ecstasy.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” Vale moaned into his mouth, “so fucking good, Kier. I love you. I love you. I love you…”

Kieran gasped as Vale’s hips snapped harder against him, the pleasure building mixing with the discomfort of him being too deep, building a rhythm that pushed him closer to some edge he’d been terrified to approach. His hands came up instinctively—not to push Vale away but to clutch at him, seeking an anchor. His tears kept falling, soaking into his hair, even as he let his body feel the pleasure, the electric bursts hitting his prostate, making him moan and writhe and push back for more.

I’m broken.

“I h-hate this,” Kieran gasped, but the words had no force behind them. Just exhaustion and honesty. “I hate this. D-don’t stop—”

He broke me.

“You love it,” Vale corrected, lips brushing against his jaw. “Keep squeezing me like that, sweetheart. It feels so fucking good.”

No…I’ve always been broken.

I should just be broken for him.

He stopped fighting, wrapping his arms around Vale’s back, his nails digging in as he let the moans escape—raw, unfiltered sounds of pleasure mingling with sobs. “Th-there,” he whispered, hips rising to meet each thrust, the friction on his prostate sending waves of heat coiling tighter. This would be fine—this was release, this was the end of denial. The pain was there, a sharp twinge with every snap of Vale’s hips, but he pursued the pain anyway, thrusting back greedily, lost in the heat and mounting pressure. “D-don’t stop.”

The lyrics weren’t intrusive thoughts. They were confessions sung in the key of surrender.

“Please—” Kieran didn’t know what he was begging for anymore. For Vale to stop? For him to never stop? But his legs wrapped around Vale’s waist anyway, pulling him closer.

He finally understood the melody he’d been hearing wrong for months. It was truth. It was inevitable, just like their flesh meeting fate. But even that thought faded, swallowed by the overwhelming physicality—the slick slap of skin, the building coil in his spine, the way each thrust sent pleasure spiking through the lingering ache like lightning illuminating a darkened sky.