Winter's Bleak Hope

Winter's chill did not touch the pair locked together in a passionate, almost violent, kiss inside the warm den. Keegan's dark hair was spread out under his pale, naked body, and his hands clung to the thick fur on Nahele's back. It wasn't what either of them wanted or needed, really, but it was all they were allowed. Keegan wanted Nahele's love, and love wasn't something Nahele even understood, and so this was what they were left with.

Rutting. Fucking. Rough and careless, angry and desperate.

Nahele growled and broke away from Keegan's kiss. Anger simmered in his copper eyes, the pupils drawn into slender slits. The anger in Nahele's eyes was mirrored by quiet bitterness in Keegan's gray gaze. They remained still except for the heaving of their chests, and then Nahele roared with frustration, forcing Keegan onto his hands and knees.

What could have been a loving, frantic coupling quickly took on the furious rage of the brokenhearted. Nahele pressed his mouth to Keegan's exposed hole, his tongue stabbing in with little care. Keegan's cry echoed in the small den as his hands gripped at the furs beneath him. It wasn't foreplay. It was cursory preparation. It certainly wasn't enough, not with how endowed Nahele was, but it was all Keegan was given.

A moment later, Keegan's scream carried easily through the camp, causing the feral-Maith still awake to look toward the Beta's den. Keegan clawed at the furs, panting raggedly with a film of tears over his eyes. Nahele didn't wait. There was no moment of adjustment, no time to savor a newly made connection. Nahele withdrew and slammed into him, over and over, and Keegan rocked with every thrust. Despite the pain, Keegan's cock remained hard, bobbing as Nahele took his own pleasure. Keegan squeezed his eyes shut and two fat tears made their way silently down his cheeks.

It was painful and swift, both of them hurting the other through the act. But it was a scene that played out again and again between them, even when there had been whispered promises to try harder. Promises only meant something to those who held hope, and neither of them dared to hope.

Nahele pushed himself into Keegan a final time before he threw his head back and howled, his muscles twitching with release. It was just a moment, a single moment when his mind was filled with nothing but the white silence of pleasure, but the moment passed. In rushed black despair as Keegan sobbed softly, and Nahele pulled out. Keegan fell to his side, his own arousal still thick, the tip slick, and Nahele wasted no time.

Keegan's next cry was of tortured pleasure as Nahele's mouth plunged down around his cock. It was the salt in the wound, that hint of concern for his own need. Keegan squirmed, gripped at Nahele's fur, and as climax neared, he even beat at the feral-Maith's shoulders. It was too much, and it was never enough. His back bowed, and the only sound that slipped between his bruised lips was a strangled groan as his seed spilled over Nahele's sandpaper-like tongue.

Pushing Nahele away, Keegan curled in on himself, but Nahele refused to leave him along. Nahele molded his body to Keegan's, petting and nuzzling the miserable Maith. What should have been the soft glow of spent pleasure was tense and tear-filled, and neither knew how to stop the vicious, unforgiving cycle.

It was always too much... and just never... never enough.

All works contained here are copyrighted to S.L. Armstrong. No reproduction or usage is permitted without written, express consent by the author.