Bond Brothers

Robbie fucks himself literally and metaphorically (Part 2 of 2)

When Robbie came back to himself, his mind settling back into his aching, dehydrated body, he didn't find himself in some lovely, posh room with a perfect decor and all the comforts of home.

The mattress he lay on was directly on the floor, and rather than sheets, he was curled up on several random items of clothing, all of which smelt of laundry detergent and the lingering trace of different alphas.

Something in Robbie's gut curled and warmed at the way those scents slotted together.

The room was large with hard-wood floors and aesthetic beams high in the ceiling, but was also piled with boxes - some of them labelled and neatly folded, and others bursting at the seams with whatever mysterious items lay within. Two doors lay ajar. One opened to a living area - judging from the corner of a couch he could just make out and the low voices he could hear through it - and the other clearly showed the way into a bathroom.

Robbie was still nude, but covered with a light blanket. The skin around his neck stung with every pull of his head, and he suspected the whole thing was black and blue with bruises. His thoroughly pummelled ass and too-tender balls throbbed dully, but curled up on his side like he was, it was manageable. Mostly though, his body ached with muscle pangs from stretches he wasn't accustomed to and the sort of exertion that went far beyond his usual, loping morning runs.

He'd inspected his body just enough to understand that he'd been wiped clean of most bodily fluids, but the clammy feel of old-sweat still lingered, so he made that his first priority. He sluggishly shuffled around the mattress until he'd found a jumper and sweatpants, both several times his size, but soft and cozy looking, then carefully lifted himself from the floor to shuffle towards the bathroom with the blanket wrapped around his waist.

He hadn't noticed the low voices out in the living room quieten, but he did notice the knock on the door jam, and the tall, lovely, lithely muscled man who smiled kindly at him there.

Robbie blinked at him. Even with his mind now clear, the mate bond tugged at him to go closer.

He didn't.

"You're up," Leon Clarke pointed out, the alto of his voice gentle, as if not to scare him if he were frightened of alphas with pretty smiles. "We were hoping you'd sleep for a while. You've had a really hard... day."

Robbie thought the word he was looking for there was 'heat', but apparently politeness was still on the agenda after he'd had spent a whole one begging to have his belly pumped with babies.

"I was just..." Robbie croaked, his voice such a ruined thing that he gave up and just pointed to the bathroom.

"Right. Right, you do that," Clarke replied quickly. His German accent was only a light thing, like he'd been speaking English for a lifetime. "Go on ahead." His hand brushed through his short hair as if he wanted to grab it but couldn't find enough to hold onto. The movement made his bicep bulge nicely, so Robbie quickly looked away.

"We, ah-- your clothes are in the wash now. And we have your things. Your wallet, your phone, keys, all that. Your... jewellery." He paused awkwardly, and Robbie blinked carefully at the ground in front of him. "So, take your time. And- and let us know if you need any help. Or any- anything at all."

Robbie nodded mutely, and closed the door behind him.

The sound of the door gently clicking shut stung oddly, like a wasp bite. A resounding reminder from the bond that he wasn't wrapped up in strong, athletic arms like he could be.

Leon Clarke smelled of sunshine, Robbie thought to himself.

He shook his head hastily and shuffled through the plush, black marbled space towards the shower, limping heavily.