Page 150 of Discordant Cultivation

Kieran gasped at the pinch, his body arching, his cheeks flaming, but the words tumbled out breathily: “I... I love your fingers f-fucking me open—please, more.”

“Good boy,” Vale praised, withdrawing his fingers and slicking his thick cock with the lube in long, deliberate strokes, the shaft glistening as he positioned himself. “Are you ready for me?” But Kieran hesitated again. Vale delivered a light slap to his inner thigh—the sharp sting blooming into heat that made him yelp. “Say it. Say you want me.”

“Yes—p-please, I-I want you.” Kieran nodded, his fingers digging into the sheets. But as Vale thrust forward, burying himself deep in one desperate motion, the stretch burned like fire—Kieran’s hole yielding painfully around the girth. He cried out, tears spilling freely from the raw ache radiating through his core as he clawed at Vale’s back with useless gauze-wrapped fingers. He didn’t think Vale was going to bottom out so fast. The overwhelming fullness made his vision blur, his entire body trembling as it struggled to adjust, every inch feeling like too much, too soon.

“It h-hurts—slow, please,” he gasped, the pain sharp and throbbing even with the lube easing the way.

“Shh, breathe through it,” Vale soothed, holding still for a moment, but his voice turned rougher. “Feel how you’re taking me? So tight, so perfect—fuck—!”

Vale groaned against his throat, a deep, guttural sound vibrating through Kieran’s skin, pulling back only to slam in again, setting a hurried, intense rhythm—fast and deep thrusts that shook the bed, skin slapping against skin, the slick glide of lube and pre-cum filling the air with lewd, rhythmic squelches. Each thrust into him hit his prostate with unnerving precision as waves of ecstasy overrode the lingering discomfort. “Yes—m-more,” Kieran moaned, his words fracturing with each impact.

Vale grabbed Kieran’s wrists, pining them above his head with one iron grip, the other roaming to squeeze his hip hard, his fingertips digging into flesh like brands. “Mine—just mine,” Vale muttered.

In the haze of intensity, Vale’s hand slid up to Kieran’s throat—not a light hold like before, but a firm, possessive squeeze, cutting off just enough air to make Kieran’s head spin and his lungs burn as black spots danced in his vision, sending a dizzying rush of heat surging straight to his cock. The pressure sparked something strange and euphoric, amplifying every thrust, making the burn of penetration sharper, the friction against his prostate like lightning bolts, pre-cum leaking copiously in sticky rivers down his shaft.

Oh god—what is this? It hurts, but... it feels amazing, like everything’s sharper—

He’d felt Vale’s hands there before, but this time it was different—loving, intense, and it unlocked something in him, his body arching desperately, moans turning strangled and needy as he drooled and his hips bucked wildly, chasing the euphoric edge.

Vale seemed to sense it, his eyes darkening with realization as he squeezed tighter, thrusting harder, voice a rough growl against Kieran’s ear: “You like that, beautiful? My hand on your throat, controlling your breath while I fuck you?”

“Yes—god, yes,” Kieran choked out, his voice strained and desperate. “Tighter—” The words were cut off as Vale squeezed even harder. Kieran could only nod, gasping desperately as Vale released just enough for a ragged inhale—the cool rush of air like fire in his starved lungs—then tightened again, the cycle sending waves of a euphoric dread through him.

“V-Vale—please—” he gasped, the words breathy and broken, his whole body trembling as he felt like he might die.

The intensity built to a frenzy, Vale’s hips snapping forward with bruising force, the bed creaking under them, Kieran’s protests melting into pleas as Vale released his throat: “Right there—mmmph—there, Vale, I-I-I-I love you—p-please—more.”

“Yes, sweetheart….so good…so fucking good for me,” Vale growled. Kieran’s orgasm hit like a storm and his release shot up to spatter Vale’s chest and chin.

Vale wiped Kieran’s cum from his chin, licking his fingers clean as he moaned, “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” around them, his pace never slowing as he climaxed.

In the aftermath, they collapsed together, still tangled, breaths syncing in the quiet—chests heaving, skin sticky with cum and sweat, the room heavy with the scent of sex. “That was...” Kieran began, his voice hoarse.

“I know, sweetheart,” Vale replied softly, still panting, his cock still twitching inside Kieran. “And I love you, too—more than anything.”

48

But you dismantled me so tenderly, with calculated acts of remedy…

Vale

“You can gradually return to work,” Dr. Henley concluded, making notes in his tablet. “No more than two hours of recording per day this week. Increase slowly. Monitor for warning signs—myoclonic jerks, absence episodes, phantom tastes or sensations, and deja vu. Any of those appear, you stop immediately.”

Kieran was nodding eagerly, barely containing his excitement. “When c-can we record with Jericho?” he asked, the question directed at Vale rather than the doctor.

“Thursday,” Vale said, watching Kieran’s face light up. “I’ll schedule it today.”

After Dr. Henley left with instructions about the adjusted medication dosages and a follow-up appointment in two weeks, Vale found himself just watching Kieran move through the bedroom with renewed energy.

“I should start v-vocally warming up,” Kieran said, already reaching for his guitar. “The duet’s going to need p-proper breath control, and I haven’t really sung in two weeks—”

“After breakfast,” Vale interrupted gently. “The doctor said gradual return, not immediate immersion.”

Kieran’s mouth opened to argue, then closed. That beautiful submission that meant he trusted Vale’s judgment, even when it frustrated him.

Breakfast was simple—eggs, toast, coffee—but Kieran’s energy made it feel celebratory. He was already planning, talking through harmonies and vocal arrangements for the new duet, his stutter barely noticeable in his excitement.

“Jericho’s alto has a heat t-to it in this really beautiful way,” Kieran said, gesturing with his fork. “If I take the higher p-parts and let her anchor the lower register, it’ll create this sort of—this nervous sound that the song n-needs, you know?”