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Eurypon’s litany drones on, each word another jaded bead to his endless chapelet. Mydei isn’t listening. He already knows what his father has to say; has been hearing it for the past two, three years. It never changes. Eurypon always repeats the same lessons, the same exact sentences, over and over until the memory of his voice remains inside Mydei’s head long after his father is gone.
He’s laying down on his bed, eyes boring into the ceiling, listening to the sounds coming from the other side of the wall, right on the opposite end of his head. It’s faint, but it’s piano, a song he’s become accustomed to over the last few weeks, seeping from his roommate’s headphones and through the thin walls. Waltz N°2, Shostakovich. Mydei’s fingers dance to invisible keys.
Neikos — his roommate — only practices late at night; sad songs he plays for the moon and stars, and sometimes for Mydei, when he’s still awake. Mydei only overhears him from time to time, when he returns late from partying with Cipher, or when he’s up thinking about something his father complained about, wondering why nothing he does is ever enough. There’s no answer to that, and probably never will be. Only the sorrowful chant of the piano. Sometimes it’s enough.
“Mydeimos. Are you listening?”
“Yes, father.”
They both know he isn’t. Mydei suspects that Eurypon only calls to reassure that he has power over him; just to know that, no matter how late it is, or how exhausted he feels, Mydei will answer. It’s a control thing, just like Eurypon insisting on paying his rent, or Eurypon lending him his credit card; a chain being tugged each time Mydei hears the specific ringtone he sets for his father, hoping for the outcome to be different, waiting to hear things Eurypon will never say, like a fool that never learns his lesson.
Before — at that age where Mydei kept his hair short and his expectations high — he would pick up overly excited, with good news to tell; grades, scholarships, new friends he’d made. Eurypon would listen, and then carefully crush all of Mydei’s excitement with a handful of words. It takes years for Mydei to learn to shut up and keep to himself, and even longer to accept that he’ll never get acknowledgement or praise from his father. His head lolls to Neikos’ melody.
Neikos is taller than Eurypon, Mydei thinks. Bigger. He’s a huge, silent ghost, haunting their shared flat rather than living in it. Mydei often hears him yet rarely sees him. They have opposite sleep schedules, and sometimes weeks pass before they cross paths. He knows Neikos is here because of the signs of life he leaves around, cigarette butts in the ashtray and doors left ajar when Mydei left them closed. He never talks.
The rare times they see each other, usually when Mydei goes to bed and Neikos wakes up, Neikos’ face is obscured by his hoodie, and one of his eyes is hidden behind an eyepatch. He glares at Mydei with the other, and at first, Mydei gave him the benefit of the doubt, thinking it might just be how he looks — but it’s been months now, and his line of thinking has swerved since back then.
“Maybe I’ve done something to him,” Mydei rants one night at the bar with Cipher, the alcohol helping bring out his built-up annoyance, — and it’s not really Neikos he’s upset about, but someone has to suffer his wrath — “in another life. Or maybe — maybe he’s just an asshole.”
“Or maybe,” Cipher replied sagely, her index finger pointing up as if she had something of importance to say, a grand third option, “he’s into you.”
Mydei had scoffed and finished his drink in one gulp, but the word remained stuck somewhere in his liver, simmering with the vodka. Perhaps he’s into you. He turns them in his head, between his hands, like a Rubik’s cube he has no intent to solve, only examining its different colors, considering each facet. He thinks about it each time he hears Neikos’s music from the other side of the concrete wall, Fur Elise; Clair de Lune; Waltz N°2, and he thinks, And then what?
When Eurypon finally hangs up, after another dozen minutes spent thoroughly mentally exhausting Mydei, sapping him of even the strength to imagine talking back, the room is bathed in blessed silence. Mydei feels tired yet wide awake. He stretches until his bones crack and pop all the way from his elbows to his neck; then shakes like a wet dog. After calls like this one, he usually exercises; runs to the nearby gym and gets some of the frustration and idleness away on one of the machines, or carries weights until his arms are full of a nice ache. He checks his phone. It’s one A.M. and the gym is long closed. He sighs.
He extirps himself from his bed and strolls through the living-room instead, headed for the kitchen. The mini-fridge is full of things he bought with his father’s card. His stomach twists. If he thinks about it too long, he’s the sum of all the things his father’s done. Built by his father’s money, then torn down by his words. He decides to leave the thinking for another day and grabs a beer.
The bottle is nice and cold in the palm of his hand. The can opener is on the living-room low table; has been there since last Friday. The apartment isn’t messy but it isn’t completely clean either, there’s always traces of someone’s living there, abandoned sneakers in the entrance, traded for slippers, towels slipping and falling to the bathroom floor, the soothing melody of Waltz N°2 coming from the other side of the wall.
He sinks into the couch. The beer is fruity, low-alcohol. It’s the same brand he always picks, ever since he brought a pack home once after a party at Cypher’s, her practically pushing it into his hands, insisting that she needed to get rid of all the evidence before her mother returned home, and Mydei had shoved it in his side of the fridge — the bottom two shelves — and told himself he’d never get around to drinking it. Three days later, one bottle was gone, exchanged by his favorite brand of energy bars. He didn’t mention anything and kept refilling the fridge since.
He grabs the remote; turns the TV on. At this hour, there’s nothing good running anymore; only old movies and sports matches from last season. Mydei switches through the channels, keeping the sound low. He settles on a not-so-recent action film and mindlessly drinks while watching. He picks up bits and pieces of what seems to be the weakest plot of the century to figure out what he’s missed, and gathers that it’s some stupid story about a spy falling in love. When he starts to get mildly invested, the sound of Neikos’s door creaks open.
He shifts on the couch, looking toward the noise. Neikos’s large frame appears in the doorway, so tall he almost reaches the ceiling. His face immediately turns into a scowl, as if he’d seen some bug scurrying on the kitchen counters. Cipher’s words ring through Mydei’s head, unhelpful. Perhaps he’s into you.
Yeah, right.
“Sorry,” he starts, grabbing the remote to lower the volume. “Was it too loud?”
Neikos doesn’t reply. He just stands there like a statue, wordless and stone-faced. The silence stretches for so long Mydei starts to believe he will never answer, until Neikos finally talks.
“No,” he says. “It’s fine.”
He has a surprisingly nice voice. Mydei has only heard it a couple of times, once when they first met and signed the co-lease, and then a second other time by accident, when they bumped against each other in a narrow, dark corner, of the apartment, Mydei getting back home late and Neikos getting up. It’s an octave Mydei isn’t used to, deep and quiet, somber yet relaxing, like the sound of the ocean waves at night. Mydei watches his roommate as walks into the living-room and grabs something from the fridge.
His back is broad, and his shoulders square. It’s strange how much taller he is. Exciting, for all the wrong reasons. Mydei isn’t drunk — he’s somewhere even worse: in the post-Eurypon stage where he feels rebellious rather than tired. Soon, he’ll be angry, and all this pent-up energy he keeps locked in has nowhere to go, wistfully thumping at the walls of his skull, trying to pry his head open. He watches Neikos’s hands as he rips through a plastic wrapper; stares at his teeth, and the deliberate movement of his jaw when he chews on two squares of chocolate. A sweet tooth. It’s a nice contrast. Neikos catches him staring, and they stay like this, leveling each other without looking away.
In the dark, Neikos’s glare seems softer. Maybe he’s not even glaring anymore, Mydei considers. Maybe he never was, and that’s just how he normally looks — a little angry, a little tormented. It’s hard to tell, with the eyepatch he’s wearing covering an entire quarter of his face. In one year of living together, Mydei has never seen what was underneath — has never seen anything of Neikos, actually, only heard bits and pieces from the other side of an undecorated white wall. Perhaps he’s into you. That’s still a thought. Maybe he should do something about it, eventually. Maybe he should do something about it tonight.
Mydei blatantly measures the distance between Neikos’ shoulders with a mix of jealousy and greed and something else, before returning to the one eye he can see. He thinks he should have gotten something to eat too; cereal, or maybe the piece of chocolate inside of Neikos’ mouth. He thinks he should say something, but his tongue is a heavy slab of meat in his mouth, a tool only used to robotically reply Yes, father, so the words don’t come out. He pushes it against his teeth, then into the inside of his left cheek, swelling it like a balloon, before letting it slide over his gum. He thinks of things he shouldn’t, and he says,
“Wanna fuck?”
Neikos freezes. Swallows. Mydei watches the shape of his curving throat as the chocolate makes its way down, and licks his bottom lip. Neikos’ hand is closed on the countertop, long, pale pianist fingers slowly unclenching, and he’s quiet.
When he moves, it’s as if he’s moving against time itself. He’s distorting the space between him and Mydei with silent footsteps, large strides. He stops on the side of the couch where Mydei’s head rests, and Mydei cranes his neck until he can meet Neikos’ eyes. He looks handsome even like this, most of his face hidden and upside down. Mydei smiles.
“You’re drunk,” Neikos says carefully.
“I’m not,” Mydei replies, and he isn’t, not really, but he’s starting to feel somewhat warm.
Neikos touches his cheek. His hand is stupidly cold. Mydei shivers and blinks slowly. Freezing fingertips keep making their way down his body, deliberately tracing his jaw, testing to see when he’ll pull away, whether he’s joking or not. Mydei doesn’t move.
“But you’re in a bad mood,” Neikos states. His hand stays here, between Mydei’s throat and his collarbone, so large it manages to reach a little of both. He’s lightly pushing, pressing Mydei down into the couch just from that one contact point.
Mydei doesn’t confirm nor deny. “Because of your dad,” Neikos adds. Mydei chuckles. That’s not a word he ever uses for Eurypon.
“You were listening.”
“Thin walls.” Neikos’ lips morph into the simile of a smile; something so faint Mydei might be imagining it. “It’s hard not to.”
I know, I hear you play piano, Mydei doesn’t say. Waltz N°2, some arrangement that sounds sadder than the original, with shorter rests as if the keys themselves were breathless.
He keeps quiet. Licks his bottom lip again, and Neikos rubs it with his thumb, wedging it inside his mouth until he touches Mydei’s tongue. “I don’t have lube,” he says.
He’s so tall, Mydei thinks. What’s even the point.
“I do.”
Neikos’ face barely shows surprise. Mydei stands on his elbows. Neikos presses down on his torso to keep him from moving. “Where?”
Mydei stills. “My room. Nightstand, second bottom drawer.”
Neikos moves like he’s not real. Mydei hears the faint sound of his socks sliding on the wooden floor, then of the door to his own room softly opening and closing again. The movie is still on, although Mydei has no idea what’s going on anymore, only that some teary-eyed people are having very serious conversations. Neikos returns before he can get a grasp of what he’s missed, the bottle of lube in hand and a somber, serious look on his face, like he’s about to bury somebody.
He places the bottle on the low table and straddles Mydei. The couch’s rusty springs let out a pained creak, and the suede folds under Neikos’ legs. He stays like this, knelt like a preying animal on top of Mydei, unmoving, scanning for weaknesses, or for Mydei to take his words back. From this close, Mydei can see his scar. It ripples from behind the eyepatch in wavy streaks of red-mauve, and the skin there looks darker, wounded and painful, and Mydei wants to touch it and check if there’s an eye behind or an empty socket for him to stick his thumb into.
Neikos’ palm returns to Mydei cheek as if magnetically attracted to it. Mydei slowly blinks again, easing into the touch.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks.
Mydei smiles. “You can.”
Neikos looks conflicted but keeps leaning down until they’re one breath away, lips against lips. He tilts his head and brushes his mouth against Mydei’s without giving in for a proper kiss, and it’s endearing, to have this larger man, unaware of his crushing weight, above him yet so… timid. It’s endearing, but not satiating, and Mydei’s impatient.
He curls a hand into Neikos’ soft sweater and pulls him forward, smashing their lips together. Neikos’ part in a soft, surprised moan, and Mydei’s tongue makes its way in, finding Neikos’. The inside of his mouth is burning hot even though his hands are cold, so damn cold, settling on Mydei’s hips and tentatively making their way up.
His hands are big — all of them, from his fingers to his palms. Mydei feels like he might disappear into them, ground into dust, reduced to little atoms. That’s another thought. Neikos could easily seize him, squash him between these two hands, and nobody will ever know or hear. There’s only the distant, muted sound of the actor’s poor acting, laced with ripples of static, and among them Mydei’s beating heart, and Mydei wonders whether he’ll still hear the sound if Neikos’ palm catches it; smothers it.
Neikos’ fingers are on his ribs, sinking into the divots separating them, and then they’re higher, on his chest, cold, so cold Mydei gasps into the kiss, arches into the touch. Shivers break through his body in jerky onslaughts, and then Neikos’ mouth skips to Mydei’s ear, his throat — and then there’s teeth, rough, vicious, sinking into his carotid artery while Mydei’s heart is finally seized.
His shirt is riding up high on his torso, his hard nipples exposed, and he feels dizzy with the sudden change of pace, one of his pecs being roughly squeezed and fondled while Neikos makes his way down the other, dives his teeth into the fat there, rolls Mydei’s nipple over his tongue until Mydei lets out a low, embarrassing keening sound. It’s been a while since he’s been touched by someone — been forever, actually, and he’s so sensitive he might actually die, hyperaware of all the places where Neikos explores, and of cold spreading through his fingertips when they pierce into his skin like ice picks.
Their gazes lock. Mydei wants to kiss again, just to feel the urgent, clumsy feel of Neikos’ lips against his; wants to pull out quiet moans out of him and hear the other, secret sounds he’s capable of making — but Neikos’ mouth is further down, busy nursing his chest, and the view drives Mydei a little insane: his sullen roommate, white bangs curtaining most of his face, visible eye flushed, lips parted and sinking down onto his pink nipple — and biting, with purpose and spite, and scratching at Mydei’s sides when he bucks away from the touch.
“You have a terrible personality,” he quips, but he’s already a little breathless and very, very hard, his cock swelling to tent his black shorts.
Neikos doesn’t reply; doesn’t even smile. He watches Mydei like he’s prey, and Mydei feels light, empty-headed, ready to be devoured, muscles and bones and everything, and he imagines Neikos’ lips painted blood red with the taste of his guts. He can’t think of anything even if he tried.
His entire being is shadowed by Neikos’ large, still-clothed body. Mydei feels oddly satisfyingly small, and stupidly turned on. His cock keeps dribbling against his shorts without anything to give it relief, and Neikos is hard, too, his arousal swelling lazily against his thigh, the shape impossible to miss, imprinting over the grey sweater, so big Mydei feels both hungry and dizzy at once.
He cants his hips up, trying to meet Neikos’ — and fails, only managing to grind against Neikos’ thigh, which is nice but not nearly enough.
“Come here,” he urges. Neikos looks up again, mouth saliva-slick; licks his lips and lets his gaze flicker between Mydei’s face and Mydei’s puffy nipple. “Come,” he repeats, feeling like he’s trying to tame a wild animal.
Neikos obeys then, moving up back into Mydei’s space, in reach for kissing. Mydei pulls him harder this time, hands carding through fluffy white hair, petting at first then yanking, clawing at Neikos’ nape in revenge, and Neikos moans a low, angry song into Mydei’s mouth, grabs his thighs and spreads his legs apart as if Mydei didn’t have any muscles here, no strength to resist — as if he was nothing but a puppet, a doll, a toy, and Mydei pictures his legs split so wide they snap; his body breaking into little pieces, and moans.
The sounds calls to Neikos like blood to a shark. His body lowers, crushing Mydei’s, finally giving him the pressure he was yearning for — rubbingtheir dicks together, and the way he rolls his hips is obscene, like he’s fucking Mydei through his clothes. Their kiss turns into a mess of spit and tongue, and then into Mydei just openly gasping, moaning hoarse moans Neikos traps with his own mouth. His cock is so fat it crushes Mydei’s with it, and soon he wraps a hand around them both — around them both, Mydei’s mind repeats, swirling, drowning, delirious with how wide his palm must be to even achieve that.
Neikos works them off in quick, messy jerks, his hips pushing Mydei deeper and deeper into the couch until he can barely move, can’t even lift his back off it to chase the pleasure, and his cold hand is trapped between their two bodies, flushed there, and the paradox of how cold his fingers are yet how hot his dick is, pulsing against Mydei’s, precome spilling onto it, has Mydei wants to scream—
“Feels good?”
It’s whispered right into his ear, and Neikos’ voice is deeper than ever, deeper than the ocean floor, and his breath is warm, and his tongue worms inside Mydei’s ear, teeth scraping at its shell—
“Yeah,” he gasps. “Yeah, fuck.” He tries grinding back into Neikos but both his roommate’s hands are on his hips, pinning him into the couch, squeezing at his waist, and all he can do is stay there and take each brutal down thrust Neikos graces him with.
“Harder?”
“Yes-”
Neikos grunts against his jaw and snaps his hips like he’s trying to kill Mydei’s with his cock, in quick, violent pushes. Mydei’s eyes roll to the back of his skull.
“Still good?”
Mydei moans, loud, head rolling to the side on the pillow,
“Yes, fuck, daddy—”
They both freeze. The living-room is eerily quiet all of a sudden. The movie has ended, but Mydei doesn’t even dare turning to see what’s playing now, mortified. Neikos is still nuzzling into his throat, silent and still. Mydei stares at the ceiling and doesn’t even dare to breathe.
When Neikos moves again, as if nothing happened, Mydei almost lets out a sigh of relief. Neikos’ hand hooks under Mydei’s knee, but he’s moving slower now, as if he’d been factory reset. He’s more purposeful; frustrating, because Mydei now craves the hungry fast pace and the feeling of being buried alive under another body, and he wants to urge Neikos to give him more, but he doesn’t trust himself to speak again.
Neikos’ hand is gone somewhere else, on the couch, near the pillow, and Mydei needs it back on him, that agonizing cold that made him feel sick in the best possible way. He nudges Neikos with his knee but his roommate stays still, only humping him lazily like it’s enough, like he wasn’t about to grind Mydei into the couch just a second ago. Mydei’s still too embarrassed to speak. He reaches down, attempting to relieve with his own hand — but Neikos is faster, locking his fingers around Mydei’s wrist.
Mydei scowls. “Let go.”
“No,” Neikos murmurs, and he sounds quiet and sort of sad like he usually does, except this time there’s something different, dangerous; the glint of a smile in his voice, a steely shadow at the very edge of his lips.
Mydei tries to pull away. Neikos’ grip is stronger, holding him in place just above his belly button, out of reach. Being restrained has his cock obviously twitch against Neikos’, and Neikos chuckles, teeth grazing at Mydei’s throat. Mydei pulls again, and this time his wrist is pinned above his head in one swoop, Neikos’ nails digging into his skin.
“No,” Neikos repeats, like he’s scolding a disobedient child. Mydei feels his face warm. Neikos pulls away from Mydei’s throat to look him in the eyes, that smile Mydei heard now in view, a satisfied, ominous curve. With his other hand, he runs his fingers alongside Mydei’s jaw, tilting it up, then runs his index over his lips. His eye is narrowed, pitch-black with a single flickering light, a hungry flame in the darkness. “Say, Please, daddy.”
Mydei both blushes and frowns at once. His teeth are ground so hard his jaw might snap, and his lips are screwed shut. Neikos looks as if he’s just struck gold, his smile turning into a smirk.
“You’re — This is ridiculous,” Mydei says — but he’s not moving. Not even trying to get away, — worse, he’s considering it, rolling the word under and above his tongue like a hard candy.
“And you have daddy issues,” Neikos retorts, sickly-sweet. Mydei glares. “It’s fine.” It’s not — Neikos sounds like he’s having the time of his life. “You can either admit it or ask nicely. Your choice.”
Mydei doesn’t say anything. He’d cross his arms over his chest to prove his point if he could, but his arm is still pinned above his head, and the other one is in a spot too comfortable to move, angled behind Neikos’ shoulders so he can card and tug at soft white hair.
“You’ve already said it once,” Neikos continues. It’s a little infuriating, that in about six months this is the first time Mydei’s seen him smile — and it’s turning him on too, the devious uptick of Neikos’ lips into his cheek and the mocking rise of his eyebrow.
Neikos reaches down, collecting the precome beading Mydei’s tip with his index finger and bringing it to his mouth, licking it. “Come on.”
Mydei tries to think of ways out of this, but his brain keeps on glitching, redirecting to Neikos’ weight over him, Neikos’ arrogant smile, Neikos’ long, pianist fingers slowly stroking him, way too slowly, making a show of it, a promise of what can come next, a trial taste.
“It’s only a word.”
They both know it’s way more than this. It's an admission that Mydei submits, and even though each rebellious fiber in his body willingly lets itself be tamed, Mydei struggles to voice it out. It’s only a word. His tongue weighs a ton. Just a word, like Yes, father, except way worse.
“...Daddy,” he tries, and his face turns into a sea of flames when Neikos’ smile sweetens.
“Almost there,” he croons. He lets go of Mydei’s wrist, and Mydei keeps his hand there captive to the phantom weight of his limb.
Neikos strips him of his shorts, leaving them pooling where Mydei’s knees are bent. His body is crooked in a defenseless position, and Neikos is still smiling, glancing at the lube bottle, then at Mydei’s bare ass, then at Mydei’s sullen face. He lets a moment pass, giving Mydei another chance to comply, then chuckles.
“Alright,” he says — and he flips Mydei onto his stomach.
Mydei doesn’t have the time to react. He’s on his knees before he knows it, face smothered into the damp pillow, elbows on each side of his head, and the next second there’s a mouth against his ass, a tongue pressing against his hole, licking.
He whines, then slaps a hand over his mouth and bites down. Neikos ignores him, working him open with his tongue — and it’s big, warm, so big Mydei becomes delirious. He clutches at the pillow, claws at it, and unconsciously raises his hips into Neikos.
His knees are twitchy, bucking, and his cock bobs and leaks all over the couch, and he’s a mess, it feels too good, too much, Neikos’ palm completely closed around his dick, sheathing it, and he’s not even jerking it, just holding it like it’s his toy while he licks Mydei opens. Mydei writhes, both pushing away and into Neikos, unsure what he wants — he only knows that he wants; that he needs, and Neikos is spitting on his hole and sucking, and pushing on his nape until Mydei’s choking against the pillow, and—
“Please,” he gasps, and once it’s out the word keeps flowing, spilling like water from a broken faucet, “please, daddy, please.”
Neikos chuckles; pats Mydei’s ass before giving it a generous squeeze. “There you go,” he says, voice dark and heavy. “Good girl.”
He starts jerking Mydei’s cock fast and hard, and it hurts a little but Mydei doesn’t care, not anymore, just wants to cum, and he’s almost there, almost, just a little more—
His phone buzzes from underneath the pillow. He lets out a frustrated groan, feeling his orgasm edge away again at just the thought of Eurypon; expecting Neikos to stop. The tip of Neikos’ dick presses against his wet hole. He swallows. Turns to his side, then to his back again, and Neikos’ tongue runs over his bottom lip.
“You look so good like this,” Neikos says, and perhaps he hasn’t heard the sound of Mydei’s phone, perhaps he just hasn’t realized, because he’s still pushing into him slowly, inch by inch, and oh, gods, Mydei feels like he’s about to break in half—
“Wait,” he says, but his voice is cracking, sounding like he’s about to cry. He manages to wedge his phone out and away from the pillow, fingers shaking in quick tremors. Neikos is easing into him with satisfied grunts, and he’s adding more weight on top of Mydei, crushing him entirely. “Wait,” he repeats, and this time his voice shatters entirely; breaks into a pitch he’s never heard himself in before. “I have to pick this up—”
Neikos laughs. He keeps on pushing inside, small thrusts prying Mydei fully open, until Mydei’s eyes flutter like he forgot how to keep them open, until he can feel him all the way up his stomach — and then Neikos leans down, nuzzling at Mydei’s jaw, pressing his dick further in and making Mydei cry out in pleasure, fingers curling in Neikos’ sweatshirt.
“No you don’t,” he says. Mydei isn’t moving but it’s Neikos who does, tossing the phone onto the table, next to Mydei’s unfinished beer. “And I’m not waiting.”
“Fuck,” Mydei mouths silently, “Dad—”
His brain is fuzzy. His phone keeps vibrating, Eurypon’s name printed in big, bold letters, and Neikos’ dick is deep inside him, pushing words he’s never used for his father out of his mouth. He moans daddy weakly, with each slow, vicious snap of Neikos’ hips, like it’s all he knows to say, and Neikos crowds him; fills him. Mydei can feel every single micro movement, every twitch, and the slow pulsing of Neikos’ warm cock inside him, stretching him. Neikos smiles, and nuzzles against Mydei’s ear.
“Yeah, baby,” he murmurs, and he gives the tiniest thrust, like dipping a finger into water — and Mydei’s toes instantly curl. “That’s it, come for daddy.”
He’s going to lose his mind. He’s clutching at Neikos’ sweater with all the little strength he has left, glaring with blurry eyes and hoping the message comes across — Don’t you dare fucking move, no, stop, but Neikos doesn’t care. He pulls out, hand flat on Mydei’s stomach, and then slams back in, buried to the hilt and Mydei can feel him everywhere, and it’s so good, so, so good, he’s so full, his entire body jolts and shakes and disconnects, nerves endings loose. It takes one, two harsh thrusts for him to make an audible noise. Neikos’ smile turns cat-like, and Mydei — Mydei’s too fucked out to be angry anymore, only soft and limp and edged to hell and back, and he wants to cum, wants to cum so bad, but his father is calling and he has to answer, but Neikos is still fucking into him like he’s just some toy for him to use—
“Come,” Neikos urges. “I know you want to.”
The phone is still vibrating, and Neikos’ dick pounds deep within him, bullies him from the inside until all he can do is bite and drool on the pillow, and when the phone finally goes quiet Mydei cums all over his stomach with a relieved sob, chest heaving. Neikos starts fucking him faster, looking down at Mydei like he’s done something to be proud of, with a hungry glint in his eye.
“Fuck,” Mydei grunts, “you’re an — ah, ah—”
Neikos bottoms out. Their hips are flush, and Mydei feels like he’s being deconstructed from the inside, feels like Neikos’ dick is about to reach his throat. “I’m…?”
“You—,” he chokes, throbbing and spilling over the couch and his stomach, again and again and again, only able to leak pitiful amounts of semen all over himself. “—You feel — so good—”
“Yeah?” Neikos grins, a droplet of sweat rushing down from his temple to his jaw. “Like it, baby?”
He’s close too. Mydei can hear it in his voice, and he could probably get off on it alone, he thinks, the raspy scratch of it echoing against his skull, so satisfying that’s it’s all he can focus on, this and the deep thrusts that have him moan and cry out and sob into the pillow. He tries to talk, but the things he says are incoherent, garbled strings of letters that make no sense rather than proper words.
“So cute,” Neikos chuckles. “There’s my good girl.”
Mydei should be humiliated but he’s only soft and turned on, drunk on how nicely Neikos slots inside him. “Fuck — Gonna come,” Neikos warns, stuttering and nuzzling against Mydei’s collarbone. “Gonna— Fill you up.”
His movements have gotten choppy, out of rhythm, and the closer he gets to his orgasm the slower he moves, gasping with each thrust. He bottoms out, shivering in the crook of Mydei’s neck, and Mydei feels him pulse and twitch; feels him flooding his insides. Neikos comes in a quiet muffled sound, a cute sound, Mydei thinks dazedly, like a puppy’s whine. Mydei is barely breathing when Neikos pulls out, semen dripping from Mydei’s ass onto his thighs and the suede. He’s a mess, soaked in sweat and shaking, and he’s exhausted yet it’s great, just great, the radiating soreness in his muscles leaving him blissful and relaxed.
Neikos kisses his forehead, his cheek. “You okay?” he asks in a raspy voice, and Mydei only nods. He feels more than okay, but he doesn’t really possess the words to explain it. His head is scattered, floaty. Neikos peppers him with more light kisses then says, “Hold on,” quietly and gets up, walking somewhere around the apartment. Mydei keeps his eyes half-shut and listens to the near non-existent sound of his footsteps, and laughs to himself. How can someone so big be so discreet?
When Neikos returns, it’s with a glass of tap water. Mydei blinks lazily, sits up and downs it in long sips. Neikos carefully wedges the empty glass away from his hand, and then kisses Mydei’s knuckles as if they were precious music instruments, as if they hadn’t just drawn bloodied trails up his back.
“We should do this more often,” Mydei comments.
He’s so tired he can’t think, but maybe — maybe there’s something to learn from this. Maybe he doesn’t always have to pick up the phone. Maybe next time, they can fuck in Neikos’ bedroom, or in Mydei’s, instead of on the couch — No, Neikos’ bedroom is better, so Mydei can listen to him play piano after he exhausted his throat from calling him all sort of names. He chuckles.
“What’s so funny?” Neikos asks. He’s a little pouty now, crouched in front of Mydei. The contrast is adorable. Mydei reaches out and pinches his cheek.
“Nothing,” he says, but he’s still laughing. “Nothing at all.”