Page 172 of Discordant Cultivation

The pace didn’t let up, punishing and deep, as he forced choked whimpers from Kieran’s lips. Vale kissed his other shoulder before he bit down hard on the back of his neck. “Such a good boy, letting me fuck this secret back into you,” he moaned into Kieran’s ear before releasing the pressure on his throat.

Kieran’s gasps became a blend of relief and ecstasy as Vale alternated between choking grips and tender kisses along his shoulders, words weaving praise with filth: “Fuck, you feel incredible. You’re going to cum like this, aren’t you? Without me even touching your pretty cock—because you’re that eager to please me.”

“Yes, yes, please—” was all Kieran could whimper out before his body locked up, a pathetic broken cry punching out of his throat as he came onto the floor, and pulled Vale over the edge with him.

Vale lingered inside him for a moment, catching his breath, lazily kissing the bite marks he left on Kieran’s skin. He began untying his wrists, his touches gentle now where they’d been demanding before, his fingers lingering on the rope marks and rubbing circulation back into the numb skin.

He removed the blindfold carefully, watching Kieran blink in the amber evening light, the scent of their mingled sweat hanging thick in the air. Those dark eyes were red-rimmed and wet, glazed over with a warm, fucked-out euphoria, like he was still riding the high of his orgasm.

Vale pulled him close, cradling Kieran against his chest the way he always did after lessons. But tonight the embrace was different—less about possession, more about something he didn’t have words for yet, even as Kieran’s softening erection pressed against his thigh. “I love you,” Kieran whispered.

“I love you, too.” Vale kissed the top of his head, trying to fight back the feeling in his throat that signaled too many emotions were about to make him tear up.

Kieran’s hand found Vale’s, their fingers intertwining with easy familiarity. Outside the windows, winter had stripped the last leaves from the garden trees, leaving bare branches that scratched against the darkening sky like desperate fingers.

He wanted to ask right then and there.

Marry me.

But it wasn’t the right time. Not yet. Not with the concert coming up.

After. I’ll ask you after the concert.

And I’ll die if you don’t say yes.

54

Brothers, sisters, social blisters, twisted whispers from the past...

Vale

Five AM felt obscene for consciousness, but the marketing team insisted on an early meeting and Vale had learned decades ago that certain battles weren’t worth fighting. He sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed in the kind of expensive casual that signaled professional competence without trying too hard, watching Kieran sleep.

I don’t want to leave you. Not even for a day.

Kieran’s face was peaceful in sleep, his features relaxed in ways they never quite managed during waking hours. Vale’s fingers itched to trace the line of his jaw, to press against his throat just to feel his pulse, to wake him with the kind of pressure that would make those brown eyes flutter open with confused need.

I want to make you cry before I leave. I want to hear you sob my name just so the sound stays with me all day.

But that was selfish and indulgent—and Kieran needed rest more than Vale needed to satisfy his cravings. He settled for leaving a note on the nightstand:

Work on your secret project. I’ll be home by 6. Love you. -V

The ring was in his jacket pocket. He’d been carrying it for weeks now, waiting for a moment that felt right, terrified of moving too fast and watching Kieran’s face shift from love to panic. The man who’d once flinched at every touch now curled against Vale like he’d been made to fit there—but marriage was different. Marriage was permanent in ways that might trigger every flight instinct Kieran learned to suppress.

Soon. When you’re ready. When I’m sure it won’t send you running.

The drive into the city should have been time for mental preparation, reviewing talking points and contract negotiations. Instead, Vale found his mind wandering to what Kieran might eat for breakfast, whether he’d remember his medication, if he’d get distracted by writing and forget to drink water.

Take care of yourself, sweetheart. I’m not there to do it for you today.

Somewhere in the past months, worry had become as natural as breathing. It wasn’t just the desire to control every variable anymore, it was a weeping wound, simple and consuming, the kind that made him check the weather forecast to ensure Kieran had a sweater laid out so he wouldn’t get cold if he wandered out to the greenhouse.

I thought I understood all of life’s complexities before. I thought I understood what this was. I understood nothing.

The meeting was tedious—marketing strategies and release timelines and demographics that meant nothing compared to the music itself. Vale contributed where necessary, signed documents that needed signatures, and spent most of his mental energy resisting the urge to text Kieran every thirty minutes.

At the lunch break, he lasted exactly four minutes before calling the landline he reconnected.