Page 65 of Discordant Cultivation

"P-please, no, Vale—d-don't…I-I-I'll sing better, I pr-prom-promise, just—not…I c-can't—" His hands fluttered up, pressing weakly against Vale's thighs as if to push him away, eyes wide and glistening with fresh tears.

But Vale twisted his fingers in his hair, pulling him closer until the tip brushed those quivering lips. "Let me in, sweetheart."

Kieran's lips parted hesitantly, warm and soft, enveloping the crown in slick heat, and Vale sucked in a breath through his teeth at the sensation—the velvet slide of that mouth, the faint scrape of teeth before Kieran opened wider. "Good boy, that's it."

Kieran's hands clutched desperately at the hem of Vale's shirt, his fingers twisting into the fabric with a white-knuckled grip.

"Wider," Vale murmured, his hips rocking gently at first, inching deeper into the wet tightness. "Use your tongue. Relax."

Kieran's tongue moved awkwardly, exploratory, lapping at the underside and circling the ridge, sending jolts of pleasure up Vale's spine that made his balls tighten and pre-cum bead at the tip, slick against the boy's hesitant swipes. Tears glistened on his cheeks, his grip on the shirt tightening.

"Your tears make you so beautiful. Look at me—don't look away." Vale's grip on Kieran’s hair tightened as he pushed deeper, feeling his throat flutter and resist around his shaft.

"Focus, sweetheart," he moaned, the words ragged as pleasure built, his cock sliding over the flat of Kieran's tongue, bumping the back of his throat. Kieran gagged, his throat convulsing around him, muscles squeezing in a way that nearly undid Vale right there.

Kieran’s head jerked back with a desperate tug, his hands yanking harder on Vale's shirt hem. "I-I c-can't breathe. P-p-lease–!"

But Vale pulled him back down, forcing his cock deeper until Kieran's nose pressed against his pelvis, lips stretched wide around the base. Kieran's face turned bright red as he twisted in panic, saliva dripping from his chin in messy strings as he slammed his fist into Vale’s hip, jerking his head back again. "Vale, p-please slow down! I c-can't—let me breathe—"

Vale couldn’t stop. Kieran’s sad eyes and melodic whimpers cast a spell on him. There was no world where he could have stopped.

Vale grabbed his head with both hands and slammed back into Kieran’s mouth. The basement filled with wet, choking sounds—the obscene gluck of his cock plunging into the boy's throat, spit bubbling at the corners of Kieran's mouth as he struggled. When another gag ripped free, a violent retch that made Kieran's body heave, Vale dug his nails into Kieran’s scalp.

Mine. You're mine and you're going to break beautifully for me.

Tears streamed down Kieran's face, mixing with snot, his breaths ragged and desperate, pleas muffled around the thick intrusion filling his mouth that only heightened Vale's arousal, his cock twitching with each spasm of the boy's throat. Vale held his gaze, those eyes pleading, wide and wet and utterly captivating.

Pleasure coiled hot at the base of Vale's spine like a damned symphony reaching its discordant peak. Kieran’s face was a canvas of sacred degradation, his tears the ink of hymns written in flesh and submission, every choking whimper and gag a stanza in the ballad of his shattering.

"Fuck, that's it—take all of it," Vale groaned, the words spilling out unbidden, crude and filthy in a way that shocked even him. He rarely swore aloud, but something about it made fire race up his spine as he thrust harder. "Choke on me, beautiful—you were made for this, for me."

It felt so right, so fucking perfect, like desecrating an altar to birth something divine.

“So fucking good for me…so fucking good. I’m going to cum, fuck, fuck, mmhm—FUCK—!” He let out a low gasping moan as he thrust deep one final time, burying himself to the hilt as his orgasm hit and flooded Kieran's throat. Vale held him flush against his pelvis, forcing him to swallow convulsively around the pulsing shaft.

He pulled back, still gasping, as he tucked himself away with trembling hands, his cock still twitching with aftershocks as he watched Kieran gasp and dry heave. Kieran let out a broken sound, raw and hoarse, his face a mess of tears, snot, and smeared saliva streaked with cum.

Look at him. Ruined and radiant.

Now he'll sing like I need him to.

By the time Eliza returned with lunch, Kieran looked hollowed out from the inside. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, swaying on his feet like someone fighting to remain upright.

There you are. Finally ready to tell the truth.

"Ready for the final take?" Eliza asked while adjusting her settings on the steadicam. If she noticed Kieran's deteriorated state, she didn’t say anything. That was one of the reasons Vale hired Eliza. She had the makings of an industry vulture.

"More than ready," Vale said. Kieran nodded mutely. "I think this one's going to be special."

When the cameras rolled again, everything was different.

Kieran began with his back to the camera, shoulders hunched, guitar cradled against his body as he started the opening lines.

"Built a temple out of skin and bone,

But the architect was never shown."

Each word felt torn from his throat, and he began moving—not the same blocking from earlier takes, but desperate, restlessmotion like a parasite fighting its way out of a dying host. His hands found the stone walls between phrases, palms pressed flat against cold surface as if seeking stability, then returned to the strings. His breath between lines was audible, ragged, like someone barely maintaining control, but still breathing in time with the song to create another element.