Chapter 102 Aslan
Aslan
Aitor looked at me with those beautiful dark eyes, full of concern and understanding, as he passed me the painkillers, and I had never felt guiltier or shittier than I did right at that instant.
Not only had I run to another guy in a blind frenzy in front of him and the entire campus, but I had just come to the realization that I couldn’t really live without his best friend.
Not that I was ever going to act on that.
This was a feeling I would hide, bury, and eventually suffocate under everything else.
Still, simply feeling it made me feel awful.
As Aitor held me close and pressed soft kisses to my hair and the side of my neck, as I breathed in his scent and let his warmth settle around me, I forced myself to make sense of the chaos inside my chest.
Maybe Garrett was just a presence I had grown used to.
A constant challenge.
A storm I kept circling back to.
Maybe it wasn’t love at all…
Oh God, definitely not that!
Maybe it was simply the need to know he existed, that he was there somewhere in the same world as me, breathing, fighting, surviving.
Maybe I had gotten used to being there for him, even when neither of us wanted to admit it.
That had to be it, because it obviously didn’t mean I had to be with him.
It didn’t mean I wanted to be.
I had Aitor.
Aitor was everything a person was supposed to want in a partner. He brought me warmth, gentleness, understanding, peace. Every good thing love was meant to feel like.
Whatever this thing with Garrett was, it had only ever brought me conflict, confusion, and pain.
It never made me happy.
It only left me feeling exactly like I did right now. Miserable.
I hated this guilt. I hated this confusion. I hated myself a little for even letting the thought exist.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, pulling back just enough to look at him. “For earlier. I know I was… a lot after Garrett’s accident.”
Aitor’s expression softened even more, if that was possible.
“Aslan,” he said quietly, brushing his fingers against my cheek, “I was worried too. Seeing him fall like that…” He let out a breath and shook his head. “It terrified me.”
I leaned in and kissed him softly, hoping somehow that it would make the guilt stop clawing at my ribs.
“I think maybe I overreacted,” I admitted against his lips. “I just… I knew that horse. I knew the risk. I saw what could happen, and I still couldn’t stop it. I just felt responsible…”
The lie tasted bitter the moment it left my mouth, because deep down, I knew that wasn’t the real reason, but it was the only explanation I could give him.
The only one I could give myself.
Aitor pulled me closer and pressed his forehead to mine. “It wasn’t your fault.”
His voice was so gentle it almost hurt.
“You warned them. You tried. What happened out there wasn’t on you.”
I closed my eyes.
God, I wanted to believe him.
“I called the hospital,” Aitor murmured after a moment. “They said Garrett is stable. He’ll be kept overnight for observation, but he’s going to be okay.”
The knot in my chest loosened just enough for me to breathe again.
Okay.
He is okay.
I let out a shaky breath and tried to force a smile. “This is so not the romantic night we planned.”
Aitor’s lips curved softly against my temple.
“I’m just happy to have you in my arms.”
Then he kissed me again, slow and warm and patient.
And because guilt was a vicious thing, because I needed to fix this night and fix myself and fix whatever was rotting inside me, my mind went to the one solution that seemed almost logical in its desperation.
Sex.
I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.
“You know?” I whispered, leaning closer until my lips brushed the shell of his ear. “James is helping his secret crush pack…”
Aitor smiled, one hand sliding gently through my hair, his eyes softening in that way that always made my chest ache. “You want to help me pack?”
“Not really…” I murmured.
I leaned in, capturing his lips in a kiss. Aitor kissed me back gently, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. “Hey,” he whispered against my lips. “It’s okay. Are you sure—?”
Yes. For me, for him, I was sure.
I cut him off, deepening the kiss, pouring every ounce of my self-loathing and frantic need into it. This wasn't even about desire; it was about penance. I was buying my body’s loyalty, trying to overwrite the memory of another with the reality of him. I took over, my hands gripping his shoulders, pushing him back against the pillows with a force that made him grunt in surprise.
My mouth was desperate on his, my teeth scraping his lower lip, not gently, but with a sharp, possessive bite that made him gasp. My hands were everywhere, tearing at his shirt, fumbling with the button on his jeans. I wasn't caressing him; I was claiming him, marking him, trying to erase the ghost in my head with the solid, warm body in front of me.
I slid off the bed, dropping to my knees on the floor. I yanked his jeans and boxers down his hips in one rough motion. His cock sprang free, already half-hard, and I didn't wait. I took him into my mouth, all the way to the back of my throat in one swift, earnest movement.
“Fuck, Aslan!” he choked out, his hands flying to my hair, not to guide, but just to hold on.
I was frantic. I swallowed around him, my tongue working his shaft, my head bobbing with a desperate, almost punishing rhythm. I wanted to choke on him. I wanted the burn in my throat, the lack of air, the intensity of it to be the only thing I could feel. I wanted to drown in him.
Aitor was panting above me, his hips lifting off the bed, thrusting into my mouth. He was trying to be gentle; I could feel it in the hesitant way his muscles tensed, but I was having none of it. I grabbed his ass, pulling him deeper, encouraging him, silently begging him to let go, to be rough, to erase everything.
And he did. With a guttural groan, his control snapped. His fingers tightened in my hair, his hips snapping forward, hard and deep, hitting the back of my throat with every thrust. The room was filled with the wet, obscene sounds of my mouth on him, his ragged breathing, and the frantic pounding of my own heart.
I could feel him getting close, his body coiling tight. I didn't slow down. If anything, I went faster, sucking harder, taking him as deep as I could, my eyes watering, my own body trembling with the effort and the raw, messed-up intensity of it all. With a final, broken cry, he came, his body arching, his cock pulsing in my throat. I swallowed eagerly, desperately, taking everything he had to give until he was completely spent.
I pulled back, panting, my lips swollen and my throat aching. I rested my forehead against his thigh, shaking, my body humming with a frantic energy that still hadn't found its release.
The room was silent save for our ragged breaths. After a long moment, Aitor’s hand, which had been tangled in my hair, gently stroked my head. His touch was no longer about passion; it was soft, tentative, and full of a confusion that cut me deeper than any guilt.
“Jesus, Aslan…” he breathed, his voice laced with awe and a profound, terrifying shock. “What was that?”