Chapter 83 Aslan
Aslan
It had been two weeks since my last exchange with Garrett.
Whatever we might have had once—whatever delusional hope I’d held onto from the start—was gone now.
At least, that was what I kept telling myself.
The truth was, I barely had time to think about it anymore.
Adrenaline carried me through most days now. Crownwell’s academic demands were already insane on their own, but lately my life had turned into something even more overwhelming.
And somehow… better.
From the underdog charity case everyone had bullied and ignored, I had suddenly become something else entirely. I had earned a position on the wrestling team, secured an internship in my field with Dr. Vance, and gained the respect of teachers who had once only watched me cautiously from a distance. Mr. Halt had been incredible throughout the whole wrestling season, pushing me harder than anyone else, while Dr. Vance had practically dragged me into the museum archives himself the moment the internship was approved.
On top of that, I had friends—well, Kate, my best friend since forever, and my new number one fan and cheerleader, James.
If that wasn’t crazy enough, I had a boyfriend.
Holy shit.
My entire life was turning around so fast it sometimes made my head spin.
The championship had also opened a few doors I hadn’t even known existed before Crownwell. A couple of small endorsement offers had come through the school program almost immediately, and I had signed them without thinking twice. The money wasn’t huge yet, but it was enough to mean something back home.
For the first time in my life, it felt like things might actually change for my family.
My mom cried when I told her. Actually cried…. And Kate had completely lost her mind when she heard the news. Though, to be fair, most of her screaming had been about Aitor.
“You have a boyfriend?” She had shrieked over the phone. “And you’re telling me this like it’s a normal Tuesday?”
Apparently, my championship had ranked somewhere below that revelation.
Still, as great as everything felt, success at Crownwell came with its own price.
Like someone once said, "With great power comes great responsibility." And even though I definitely didn’t feel powerful yet, the responsibilities were already piling up.
Morning classes. Heavy wrestling training. Riding practice whenever Garrett wasn’t already occupying the field. Evenings buried in textbooks or working ahead on my internship assignments.
Most nights ended with me sitting at the museum’s cataloging desk while Dr. Vance trusted me with the delicate process of logging pieces into the archive system.
Aitor usually showed up at some point during those long sessions.
Not to help much—while he was a musical prodigy, art history wasn’t exactly his strongest subject—but he still insisted on bringing coffee and quiet company whenever he could.
I usually would bring some work to his dorm and work there while he practiced his music or read one of his books. Most of the time trying not to distract me; other times, doing just the opposite.
He leaned against the desk one evening while I carefully typed notes about a nineteenth-century oil study, watching me with that soft smile of his.
“You need to slow down,” he said eventually.
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve been saying that for three hours.”
I didn’t look up from the screen. “I’m almost done.”
“Aslan.”
That tone made me glance up.
He stepped closer and gently closed my laptop with one hand.
“You need to rest.”
I stared at him for a second before laughing softly. “I can hardly relax with everything I’ve got going on right now.”
“I wish I could help you more, angel, but I might not be as talented when it comes to art—” he said with a shrug, leaning in to kiss my forehead.
“You know,” I said, pulling him closer by the waist, “I can think of a few other talents you do have…”
Aitor smiled slowly, the kind of smile that always made my stomach tighten a little.
“Oh, yeah?” His arms wrapped around me, warm and steady as he leaned closer. “Any one in particular?” he murmured, brushing his lips near my ear.
“Oh, yeah…” I breathed, shivering at the warmth of his mouth against my skin. “There’s this de-stressing technique you’re very good at.”
I tilted my head slightly, giving him better access.
“I hear it works wonders.”
He didn't answer with words. He just guided me back to the couch, his hands gentle but firm on my shoulders, until I was lying down. He followed, settling over me, his weight a comforting pressure. His eyes met mine, a silent question in them. I smiled, brushing my lips against his, my tongue tracing his lower lip.
That was all he needed. His fingers fumbled with the button of my jeans, and I helped him, pushing them down along with my boxers. He stood up just long enough to shuck his own clothes before he was back over me, skin to skin. His hand found my cock, soft but interested, and he started to stroke me slowly. His lips met mine in a soft, exploring kiss, then trailed down to my neck, where he nipped and sucked gently.
It was slow, methodical. His hand was patient, his touch sure. And slowly, my body started to wake up. Blood rushed south, and I hardened in his grip. A drop of pre-cum welled at the tip. I felt a surge of confidence, a need to give back. I reached between us, my fingers wrapping around his own thickening length. I used the slick bead of my own pre-cum to stroke him, and he groaned against my neck.
We were like that for a while, just kissing and touching, our hands working each other in a steady rhythm. Then he shifted, reaching over me to the small desk beside the couch. He took out the small bottle of lube and poured some over both our cocks, the cool liquid a shock against our hot skin. He slicked us both up, our hands sliding together easily.
When his fingers, still slick with lube, moved lower, circling my hole, I tensed. "Relax," he whispered. He pressed one finger against me, a slow, gentle pressure. He wasn't trying to get inside, just testing. I took a deep breath and forced myself to let go. The tip of his finger slid in, and he moved it slowly, carefully, until—oh. A jolt of pure electricity shot through me. He'd found the magic spot. He pressed again, and I cried out, my hips bucking off the couch.
As he kept stroking it a few times, my breathing became erratic, my hands fisting his hair wildly. “Ai, I’m getting close—”
That seemed to be his cue. He pulled his finger out and moved back over me, settling his hips between my legs. He took both our cocks in one of his warm, slick hands and pressed them together. The friction was insane. I was whimpering now, completely lost in the sensation. He started to move, a slow, deliberate grind that had us both panting. Our hips bucked, finding a rhythm, our slick cocks sliding against each other. It was frantic and desperate. I could feel the pressure building, my whole body tightening.
"Aitor," I gasped, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
"Let go, Aslan," he groaned, his rhythm faltering. "Come with me."
That was it. I shattered. A choked moan tore from my throat as I came, spilling between our stomachs. A second later, he followed, his body shuddering as he added to the mess. He collapsed on top of me, both of us breathing hard, our bodies covered with sweat and cum.
Laying my head on his chest, I felt a strange, unfamiliar kind of peace.
I could be happy like this.
I had never been with someone I couldn’t imagine losing or leaving—someone I actually needed in my life. Over time, I had come to the quiet conclusion that there was probably no one I could truly tolerate forever, and especially no one I couldn’t live without.
Maybe some of that would never change. But right here and now, wrapped in his arms and listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, I realized something new.
Even if he wasn’t someone I couldn’t live without…
Aitor was someone I could definitely live with.