#raidersden

"what did you say, boy?"

The word had hit him like a bloody sucker punch. He did not expect his boy to be like this. Or maybe he did and still chose to ignore the evidences. But right then, it was hard to deny, especially after the hard slap on the table, that even made the plates and cluttery shake and fall. Amber's eyes moved to the other people around the table. "You will all excuse us, but Casey and I have to talk." He got up, putting his napkin away and going to the door, not even looking over his shoulder.

A man, and his hound. Viktor and Emmet had earned this title by virtue of one's proclivity for silence and strength as an answer to the other's propensity for fast-talking and mind games. Both were equal in their eyes, but out on the chaotic world, it served to have some branding.

"Good boy." Viktor hummed, showering Thomas with appraisal once the younger man finally turned to suckle on his dick. Veiny and red with need, his cock welcomed the tenderness of Thomas' tongue circling it, and he was thankful of the warmth engulfing him. His hand rested on Thomas' head, heavy, guiding him to take more and more of his cock.

Byron was built like something meant to absorb impact rather than avoid it; a broad, dense slab of a man somewhere in his late forties, with the kind of thick, weathered solidity that comes less from a gym membership than decades of hard use. His torso was massive, barrel-shaped, the kind of build that made younger men's confidence falter a little just from the sight of it. A heavy beard, shot through with gray, framed a face that had clearly taken its share of impacts over the years; seasoned, the lines around his eyes deep enough to read like a record of every fight that came before this one. His shoulders rolled forward with the slight stoop of a big man who'd spent a lifetime shrugging off other people's punches.

Dorian was bigger, younger. Maybe even stronger. None of it mattered once Byron got a grip on him.

Size and force could only do so much against leverage, and Byron knew exactly where every ounce of that bulk became a liability instead of a weapon. He'd let the bigger man load his weight forward, felt the brief, telling shift in balance, and used barely any strength at all to turn it against him. A hip here. An angle there. By the time they hit the floor, too much mass to recover quickly, too much momentum to redirect once it was moving the wrong way. Byron slid in behind him, controlling the bigger man's far arm, weight settled exactly where it would do the most damage to his options and the least to himself.

For someone his size, he should have been able to simply stand up and shrug the smaller man off, but Byron's grappling didn't care how big you were once you ran out of space to be big in.

Sparing always got him excited, and winning truly put fire in his groin. Byron felt himself getting hard, but since Dorian was no stranger to the rules, he stayed put. Pressing his growing groin against Dorian.

When the world gone to shit Locky had been prepared to stick it out on his own, and for the longest time he did. Growing his own food and surviving on pure luck until the day it became too dangerous to stay on his farm and he packed up his things, including plentiful amounts of seeds and ventured out on his own, the loneliness that he had suffered continued as he kept to himself, too afraid to meet unsavory folk despite his military background, not wanting to jump to violence, preferring to stick to the shadows.

That was of course ruined when AJ found him and pulled a gun on him. It took weeks to even get the man to let his guard down even a little, and Locky spent that entire time trying to get the hardened leader to crack a smile whilst bonding with the younger men of the group. Locky didn't consider himself a member, and he was confident that his place among them wasn't permanent, yet he was all too eager to enjoy the benefits of being around others for has long as they'd have him.

AJ? AJ was one stressed man. He observed the man constantly, seeing the stress, the forced brave face he had to wear, it tugged at Locky's heart and so he made it his mission to give the man what he needed. Sweet relief behind closed doors, safety away from the prying eyes of his men where a strong man could be a little weak if he wanted to be, a normal man, a human being.

AJ was too busy taking care of all of those boys. Who was taking care of him?

AJ's comment about liking him made his ears flush pink, and he smirks back at him, crawling onto the bed, the weight of both men making the frame creak. He takes in the sight of that incredible ass and immediately dips in to press a quick kiss to both cheeks, rubbing the scruff of his stubble along the soft flesh. "Want to know a secret, sweetheart?" The term of endearment drops from his lips like honey once more, and he frames it with another kiss. "I really like you too. I think you're going to miss me a lot when I'm gone."

It was a dark comment, kept vague since Locky didn't know what would happen first. Would he leave the group, his short duration alongside other people being over, or would he die? Either could happen, which was why he intended to make the most of it. Strong fingers pull about AJ's cheeks, and he immediately breathes warm air over the man's beautiful hole.

"Look at that. So goddamn beautiful, big guy. Been wanting you since I first laid eyes on you and you had that gun in my face, you know that? You made quite the impression." Without a warming he wastes no time, his tongue wet with saliva licks a long stripe along the crack of AJ's ass and over his tight rim, the flat side lapping at the pucker in long drawn out licks while he hums excitedly. He hadn't done with since before everything went to hell, he missed the intimacy, the carnal desire, and above else he missed having a man beneath him, a man he coud care for.

He hated that he wanted AJ to be that... his. Hated that he never would be, at least not in the way he wanted. Eating his hole and hopefully fucking him was at least a lustful alternative to what he truly wanted. Spit dribbles down his jaw, wet and messy as he continued his needy assault on his new lover's ass, the tip of his tongue finally breaching the tight muscle all the while he kept a steady and harsh grip on either ass cheek, squeezing the mounds for emphasis.