Major Iqbal x SP Chaudhary Aslam
âDaddy Issuesâ (smut)
Go ahead and cry, little boy
You know that your daddy did too
You know what your mama went through
You gotta let it out soon, just let it out
Go ahead and cry, little girl boyâŚ..
The LTF back office was thick with smokeâhashish and cheap tobacco curling through the dim fluorescent light like ghosts.
Two men, hardened with years and out of their wits. Consuming more than what they supplied on Bade Sahabâs orders, mind filled with memories from different dimensions and timeâŚall coming out at once that night.
After they had consumed the maal and before they could consume each other.
Major Iqbal's thighs, shaped with a few good years in the Indian jails and the barracks, burned as he sank down slowly onto the cock waiting beneath him.
Savouring the delicious strech as the photographs on the police walls blur amongst the haze of sex and substance.
He never took them, encouraging others but never himself. But every supplier slips onceâŚor twice.
Glossy eyes now visible with his aviator discarded, a soft involuntary noise, Something inbetween a groan and whimper escaped his sinful lips.
SP Chaudhary Aslam, The Jin let out a guttural groan from where he was sprawled in the office chair, his massive bear-like frame barely contained by the upholstery. The buttonâs of his signature white kurta was undone, hanging open to reveal a thick pelt of salt-and-pepper hair covering a broad, heavy chest.
It was the kind of chest a man built over decades of service, ten years of suspension and then back on duty.
His belly was soft but solid, that spoke of whiskey nights and late night Dhaba meals after long days of police work, and his thick thighs parted wider to accommodate Iqbal's imminent weight.
"Fuck, yes," Aslam growled rasping , one meaty hand gripping Iqbal's hip to steady the trembling major while the other brought a bitter cigar to his chapped lips.
The one Iqbal was smoking before being hoisted on the Jinâs lap. Jinâs do love angelsâŚeven if they are angelâs of death.
He took a long drag, letting the high settle in his being, red rimmed eyes never leaving Iqbal's unguarded face.
The major had his mouth agape, his muscles too relaxed dipped in intoxication. The flickering bulb of the office illuminated the two golden teeth, the only thing SP could focus on other than the unbearable yet intoxicating warmth engulfing his being. The major had prepped himself well.
"Zara dekhiye. Major SahabâŚ. riding my cock like you were made for it."
A coy lazy smirk played on Aslamâs lips , seeing the cold blooded Jallad so utterly taken by grief and alcohol; whimpering almostâ on his cock was no less than a rare almost nil chance of an occurance.
So heâll enjoy it. For every second this lasts.
The feeling of how it feels to be on top of the food chain for one night.
Iqbal's breath hitched. He was only dressed in his olive-green uniform shirt, open at the collar as black undershirt peeked out, precipitate already beading at his sensitive neck.
His trousers and boxers had been discarded forgotten on the dirty floor, The SP caresses the smooth yet hard form of Iqbal .peppering sloppy kisses to his delicate spot before finally sinking his teeth on Adamâs apple of the impaled man.
Blunt fingers dug deep into Aslam's shoulders in retaliation as Iqbal adjusted, feeling every inch of that thick, curved cock stretch him open from the inside.
He'd prepped himself in the bathroom, quick and desperate, but nothing prepared him for the sheer fullness of Aslam filling his pucker. âHow is the man so hard?â
The sensation made him gaspâthe wrongness of it. The knowledge that he was preparing himself in a public bathroom, on the verge of tears, while his father's voice echoed in his skull:
âBhadwa, Khassi saala. Ek beta bhi na de paya , tu major.â
Aslam knew, the major was in that filthy space for quite some time. And had came out with flushed red cheeks and a stain on his trousers.
And that made him undeniably hardâŚor it was the charas. We all know what it was.
"Main nahâ" Iqbal started, voice rough. He digged his nails deeper drawing out blood , turning the white kurta of the police red.
"Aap ab Wo haiâŚJo main bolu," Aslam cut him off grimacing at the sting, exhaling smoke that drifted across Iqbal's face. Iqbal let out an impatient huff at the smoke and dominant tone, Aslamâs cock now fully sheathed. He took the cigar from his lips and held it out to the major. "Suck."
Iqbal stared at the glowing tip. His jaw tightened, he wasnât used to following ordersâŚespecially from those below him on the hierarchy.
"You heard me, Major." Aslam's voice dropped lower, darker. "Suck that cigar, like how you would suck my cock."
The command hit Iqbal somewhere deep, a place he'd buried under years of discipline and duty.
He leaned forward, the movement making Aslam's cock shift inside him, drawing a sharp intake of breath from both men.
His lips parted, and he took the cigar between them, tasting the ash and the oil from Aslam's fingers.
He sucked slowly, deliberately, letting the smoke fill his mouth before pulling back and releasing it in a thin stream. Closing his eyes at the sweet release.
Tobacco, alcohol, drugsâall together? Not a good combo.
Iqbalâs lips curled around the cigar, drawing in a slow drag of tobacco that hollowed his cheeks ever so slightly.
Smoke lingered against the sharp planes of his face before he exhaled. The sight pulled a cruel chuckle from the Pathanâlike a warning dressed as amusement.
Aslam's hand came up to grip his bearded jaw, forcing the used cigar out as he pats his face condescendingly. âGood boy. Now Ride it like you need itâ
Iqbal obeyed, mind too numb and hole too full to resist the firm command.
Good boyâŚhe was a good boy. He followed orders of the ISI and Bade sahab to a T, protected his Qaum and fulfilled his Maqsad. Khuda ka Banda, Kaafiron ka JalladâŚ.No one deserved the title more than him, so he obeyed.
He was a good boy, the best boy. His father was just too ugly and full of shit to understand. Heâll prove it, prove him wrong that he was a weak manâŚhe was not weak, heâs killed so many. Weak people donât kill. They donâ
His eyeâs widened a fraction when he felt a rough and calloused hand around his throat, squeezing it in warning, forcing him to bounce like a wild rabbit on the length.
The SP was immensely satisfied, Iqbal looked so boyish when surrendering. Aslam imagines what a pretty boy he mustâve been in his younger days.
Major braced his hands on the armrests of the chair and began to move in the rythym he was guided inârolling his hips feverishly , that made Aslam's thick cock drag against his prostate with every downward stroke.
The wooden chair creaked beneath them, threatening to give out his life in the expense of the two monsters of huge men fucking like their life depends on it .
The air grew thick with the smell of sweat, sex and all things sinful.
Iqbal could feel every ridge, every vein of that fat cock splitting his hole open, and he couldn't contain the moan that escaped his throat.
"Bas, *groans* Waise hi," Aslam grunted, his free hand sliding up under Iqbal's undershirt. He caressed the majorâs sculpted abdomen, adoring ever crease and scar before resting on his chest, just to thumb one of his nipples into hard peaks.
"You needed this, didn't you, boy? Needed a real man to fuck that tight little ass. Your daddy never gave you this, did he?"
Iqbal's rhythm faltered into trembling grinds.
The words hit like a bullet, and Aslam knew itâthe bastard knew it, because that's why they were here. That's why Iqbal had shown up at his station at midnight with red-rimmed eyes hidden behind dark aviators and a desperate hunger that had nothing to do with sex.
"Don't," Iqbal breathed, his lips trembling as he let in a shaky breathe. âSP mat karâŚâ
"Don't what?" Aslam grabbed his hip harder resuming to bounce him , forcing the pace faster, slamming Iqbal down onto his cock with brutal precision.
A silent scream tore through the once proud manâs throat.
Heâll have to soothe it with his cock down his throat, SP mused pulling on the hard peaks. Overstimulating the poor man.
"Hmm, Sach na bolu? Don't remind you that you're here because your father never held you, never loved you, never fucked you good enough to fill that hole in your chest?"
Iqbal's vision blurred. He was still movingâ guided by the brutal man, still riding, because his body had stopped listening to his mind. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, hot and unwelcome, he blinked them backâŚit felt disgusting.
"That's right," Aslam continued, voice unrelenting. He took another drag from the cigar and blew it directly into Iqbal's face.
"You think I don't see it? The way you look at me like I'm something you need to earn. You've been chasing daddy's approval your whole life, and look where it landed youâtaking cock in a police station while high as a kite, crying like the little boy you never let yourself be."
It splashed onto Aslam's chest, disappearing into the coarse hair there. Iqbal's rhythm broke, his hips stuttering, and he let out a sound that was half sob, half moanâugly and raw and completely unguarded.
"Go ahead and cry, little boy," Aslam murmured, something almost tender flickering behind the cruelty.
They were friendsâŚhe would expect iqbal to be present in his funeral if he died before him. And him being undeniably attractive rested his case.
He wiped a thumb under Iqbal's eye, then to the scar marring half of his face, smearing the moisture. "You know your daddy did too. You know what your mama went through. Let it out. Just let it out."
Iqbal's forehead dropped to Aslam's shoulder, and he cried.
The sobs tore through Iqbal like a storm breaking open a dam he didn't know he'd built. Each one dragged his whole body with itâshoulders heaving, fingers scrabbling at the fabric of Aslam's kurta , nails digging in as if he'd drown if he let go.
His breath came in ragged gasps between the cries, hot and wet against the older man's collarbone.
Aslam didn't rush him. Didn't shush him. He just stood there, one hand buried deep in Iqbal's hair, fingers threading through the sweat-damp strands with a slowness that bordered on reverence.
The other hand lifted the cigar to his lipsâa long, deliberate dragâand he held the smoke in his lungs while Iqbal shuddered against him.
The silence between sobs was filled with the soft crackle of burning tobacco, the wet sound of Iqbal's breathing, the faint tick of a clock somewhere in the room.
Aslam's cock was still buried inside him, and he could feel every tremor that passed through Iqbal's bodyâthe clench and release of his inner muscles, the way his thighs trembled where they were wrapped around Aslam's hips
"Nahi pataâŚsala Wo madarchodâŚKyu.." Iqbal gasped between sobs.
"Shh." Aslam kissed the top of his head, a gesture so unexpected it made Iqbal jerk back. Liquid luck made you do weird things.
"I know, boy. And you're never gonna get it from him. He's dead or he's gone or he's just a fucking ghost you've been chasing your whole lifeâ
He shifted, one arm hooking under Iqbal's thigh to angle him differently, and the next stroke hit so deep Iqbal saw white. His sob turned into a startled cry of pleasure, turning him into a mindless being.
But right now, you got me. And I'm gonna fuck that grief right out of you."
"Mil gaya ," Aslam growled, the tenderness gone, replaced by that dark commanding edge. He had found his G-spot and was abusing it to the fullest. The fine line between reality and consequences blurring into a sick twisted desire.
âThereâs my ISI Major.â His voice softened with mock fondness. âRemember when Bade Sahab introduced us?â
He tilted his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. âYou looked at me with so much loathe, I almost laughed. All because, for the first time, you werenât the only one standing beside him like a sonâ
Iqbal did remember. The memory cut through the haze of smoke and tearsâhim in his younger years, polished and with a much better groomed beard , looking at Aslam like he was dirt beneath his boots.
"Look at you now," Aslam continued, thrusting up into him with punishing force. "Look at the state of you. Tears streaming down your face, my cock splitting you open, high on hash and begging for more. Tell me, Majorâye Socha tha jab dhamki do thi aapne?"
"Nahi," Iqbal whispered, his voice wrecked.
"Nahi? To kya Socha tha ?"
âHumne Socha thaâŚI would break youâ
Aslam laughed, a deep rumbling sound that vibrated through Iqbal's chest. "And who broke who, boy?"
Iqbal lifted his head. His face was a messâtears, snot, smeared kohl he hadn't bothered to remove from earlier. But there was something else in his eyes now. Something sharp and dangerous cutting through the wreckage.
The sight alone made Aslam cum, the sight of the broken yet sinfully beautiful angel of death in his whole glory was deeply embedded in the SPâs mind.
Thick hot ropes of cum coated Iqbalâs insides, as he convulsed due to the warmth and humiliation.
âThat fucking bastard came insideâ
He had convulsed twice on his lap , his essence had painted the both of them as he rode down his high.
Drops of white now coated the SPâs beard and kurta, sticking to the both. He let out deep pants, the cigar extinguished signifying the end of the Jinnâs reign.
Yet Iqbalâs cock was still hard.
He reached for the last cigar in the packet and lighted it with the discarded lighter. His whole form trembled in need and something primal as he took the first hit.
Iqbal's hand moved from Aslam's throat to his collar, cinching the fabric tight against the older man's throat. The cigar smoldered between his lips as he rode, each movement deliberate nowâa grind, a roll, a deep impalement that made Aslam's thick hands claw at the Majorâs ass.
They turned a beautiful shade of red.
"No," Iqbal murmured around the cigar, smoke curling between them. "You don't get to just lie there and take it. You wanted a whore? You got one. But this whore fucks back."
He pulled Aslam forward by the collar, forcing the older man upright, their chests pressing together. The position changed everythingâAslam's cock drove deeper, angled differently, hitting that spot that made Iqbal's thighs tremble. But he didn't stop. He wrapped his legs tighter around Aslam's waist and rode, his ass clenching and releasing in deliberate pulses.
"Look at me," Iqbal commanded, and when Aslam's eyes met hisâIqbal leaned in and bit his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. He sucked the copper taste into his mouth, then released him. "That's âŚ. Thatâs for thinking you could break me with a few tears and a good fuck."
He took another drag of the cigar, held it, then pressed his mouth to Aslam's, forcing the smoke down his throat in a filthy kiss. Aslam choked and moaned against Iqbal's lips.
"You think this broke me?" Iqbal's voice was hoarse but steady, the charas and its effects making him act in a frenzy. He began to move again, riding Aslam with renewed purpose.
The shift was electric. Aslam's breath caught, his hips stilling as he stared up at Iqbal with something like wonder.
"You think this makes me weak?" Iqbal leaned close, his lips brushing Aslam's ear.
He slammed down hard, taking Aslam to the hilt, and watched the older man's eyes roll back.
"To tu galat hai SP.," Iqbal said, his voice dropping to a whisper. âlet me show you what a real ride feels like.â
Aslam swore, and his own release came in hot, flooding bursts, painting Iqbal's insides white. He shuddered against Iqbal's back, breath hot and ragged, until the last tremor faded.
For a long moment, neither moved. The only sounds were their heaving breaths and the faint siren of the police car outside.
Aslam didnât need but a few painful strokes to make Iqbal cum for the umpteenth time.
And when he cameâgasping, tears still wet on his cheeks but a triumphant smile curving his lipsâit was with Aslam's name on his tongue and the knowledge that he'd won something tonight.
A sick Victory over himself.
"Aap main Kuch to baat hai , Major sahab," Aslam rasped when he could speak again, his own release painting Iqbal's insides.
Iqbal stubbed out the cigar on the armrest of the wooden chair, leaving a scorch mark. Incoherently mumbling out something that SP could only decipher as a protest before falling unconcious on the big bear like chest of SP.
a comforting escape from the world
Aslam sighed tired, and looked down at the fallen cigar still burning. He carressed the majorâs back, full of scars and welts.
Some might be from his deadly encounters but the almost faded and unnoticed onesâŚwere definitely something from the brigadier, that Iqbal oh so rarely mentions.
He thinks of their next potential encounter before resting his eyesâŚ
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Disclaimer- All characters, names, and settings belong to their original creators, including Aditya Dhar and the rights holders of Dhurandhar. I claim no ownership over them.
