Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He used to feel worse about not wanting to find a woman as bad as he probably should. Truthfully, Hamzah knows there’s something just innately wrong with the way he is. He’s known since he was young. Whispers between his parents and weird questions from his classmates were enough for him to suspect something.

He’s not stupid, but he has a tendency to keep the devil at bay. It won’t do him too much harm as long as he doesn’t think about it. It’s worked so far. It’s easy to play the part of a guy that just doesn’t have the best luck with women.

He’s played the part so well that it's basically just him at this point, any sign pointing to the truth having long been swallowed down.

His life is fine as it is.

His dad was easy to hate. It was a mutual hatred, after all.

But his mom loved him and still whispered to Hamzah at night the same things his father yelled in his face. From his mom, it was genuine concern. A mother praying to save her son from hell.

He’s been friends with Martin for a while now, but ever since starting this channel with him things have started to get weird. He’s used to the straight guy gay banter, but it isn’t like that with Martin. With Martin, the punchline isn’t that he’s being gay, the punchline is that he’s being gay with Hamzah. He’s starting to think Martin actually has a thing for him.

It makes Hamzah feel sick, for some reason. He guesses he doesn’t want his best friend to be gay for him; that would be really weird. And awkward. Overall not good for their friendship.

Plus, the way Mandy talks about men is making him start to think this is a lavender marriage of sorts. (That doesn’t really make sense. Still, something in him prompts him to believe it. Something like hope.)

It finally comes up one late night at Martin’s place. He’s watching Martin play some game he doesn’t know the name of on his Nintendo switch.

“Are you gay, dude? Like, seriously?” Hamzah asks, watching Martin watch the screen.

“Nah, bro,” he says, meeting Hamzah’s gaze. Martin’s voice is high, like he’s surprised to hear it. “You know– I’ve been asked that by like… everyone. You should know it’s just my vibes.”

Martin smiles at him playfully but Hamzah furrows his eyebrows. He fidgets with his phone in his hands.

“Then, like, why do you act like that? Genuinely. Obviously not all gay people act the same and not all straight people act the same but…” It doesn’t make sense, but he needs to prove to himself that there is a way to act. That he’s doing it right. That Hamzah is more of a man than Martin.

Martin’s face twists. “Are you gay?”

Hamzah’s eyes widen and look for any sign on Martin’s face to tell that he’s joking, but it’s expressionless. Annoyingly so.

“Wh– Why would you even say that?” Hamzah sputters out. “Do you really think im fucking gay?” His voice comes out louder than he means it to.

“I never said that. I was just returning the question.” Martin turns his attention back to the game he's playing.

For a moment, all Hamzah can hear is his own breathing, embarrassingly erratic compared to Martin’s collected demeanor, and the background music of whatever game Martin is playing.

“Well, you shouldn’t fucking say that. Cause you know I’m not.”

“Don’t you know I’m not? Why are you allowed to ask me?”

“Because it’s obvious I’m not.”

“Is it?”

Hamzah just stares at him. He can feel his body shut down.

He has no idea what his own face looks like, but he doesn’t give himself time to worry about that. He runs off to the bathroom.

Hamzah could’ve left, if he wanted. Instead he’s staring at himself in the bathroom mirror that belongs to the guy he’s avoiding, who’s also the same guy he will see when he leaves the room. He’s essentially trapped, unless he wants to humiliate himself by either caving and sitting back next to Martin like nothing happened, or walking awkwardly past Martin and leaving entirely.

He finds that option far too rude, so for now he's stuck in here. The cool lighting makes Hamzah’s face look sickly. Or maybe he just looks like that.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when he hears a knock on the door. Martin doesn't give him time to process anything before he can see the door open from the reflection in the mirror. The lighting compliments Martin’s cheekbones a lot better than it does Hamzah.

“Hey, Hamzah…”

Hamzah turns around but doesn't make eye contact, instead landing his gaze on his own socked feet. Oh, that's right, he's not wearing shoes. He definitely couldn't have left Martin’s house in any way that wasn't humiliating.

He watches Martin’s feet step closer and finally remembers he's probably supposed to be saying something.

“What’s up?” His voice is flat. He makes sure of it.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay…” And Martin’s voice is obnoxiously soft, like he’s afraid Hamzah will break if he's not careful enough. It’s disgusting.

Martin steps even closer and Hamzah is trapped again. Martin’s almost pressing him against the counter. Hamzah decides to entertain Martin’s savior complex.

“Yeah… Just…” Hamzah presses himself closer against the sink. “I’m not gay.”

He expects Martin to make fun of him. Maybe that's what he wanted, someone to fight him on this, because when Martin says nothing instead, he thinks it's worse than anything he could've said.

But then, Hamzah thinks maybe Martin didn't hear him at all, because he's leaning in now, and he closes his eyes as Hamzah’s widen.

The kiss is gentle, too gentle. Like Martin’s unsure of himself. It pisses Hamzah off to no end. Martin has the audacity to barge into this fucking bathroom but won’t even kiss Hamzah like he means it?

Hamzah moves his arm from holding himself up against the counter and uses it to grab Martin’s hair. It means his back pushes into the edge of the sink awkwardly, but he doesn’t worry about that.

Instead, he focuses on the response from Martin to his (admittedly a little aggressive) grip on his hair. It's unmistakable the way Martin whines and opens his mouth wide around Hamzah’s. Hamzah takes the opportunity to push his tongue in deep and take control of the kiss. He smirks against Martin’s mouth and he’s sure Martin can feel it. Has Martin been this easy the whole time?

Martin starts to push Hamzah harder into the counter and their bodies are almost fully pressed together. Hamzah snakes one hand under Martin’s shirt and runs his palm down his chest. He sucks on Martin’s bottom lip, probably a little too hard to be enjoyable. Martin rewards him with a soft moan anyway.

Suddenly he feels Martin’s hardness press against him and Hamzah gets so turned on so fast he can feel his stomach do somersaults inside of him. He presses his hips up to Martin, but he doesn’t let himself start a rhythm. He breaks apart from the kiss with a gasp.

“God,” Hamzah breathes out, and it’s wrong. “Martin,” he corrects himself. Martin responds by burying his face into Hamzah’s neck, crushing his own nose. Hamzah can feel Martin’s inhales and exhales on his skin. He places his hands on Martin’s waist and syncs his breathing with his.

Martin is the first one to give in. He grinds his hips down hard, and Hamzah loses his ego immediately. He’s fully hard now and Martin is whimpering into his ear; there’s no going back.

“Martin–” His breaths come fast and laboured.

“Shh– Just– Just let me do this for you.” Martin trails his hand down Hamzah’s chest and lands it on Hamzah’s bulge. It’s vulgar. Hamzah could laugh, probably would if he wasn't horny out of his mind. “Okay?” Martin asks. Hamzah is in no state to say no.

Then, Martin drops down. Hamzah hears his bony knees hit the ground, and it would be remarkably unsexy if it wasn't Martin.

He focuses on keeping his breathing steady as he watches Martin play with the fabric of Hamzah’s shorts, like he's thinking, before he starts to pull them down slowly and look up at Hamzah.

It's an unspoken question. Hamzah nods without even thinking, too distracted by Martin’s eyes peeking through his bangs, and how intense his gaze is.

Martin pulls the shorts down fully and then doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands. He just keeps them in the air awkwardly while he looks straight forward at Hamzah’s boxers. Hamzah’s stomach twists with more than anticipation.

“Martin can you… This is embarrassing just-” He moves to pull his shorts back up but Martin grabs him by the hip with one hand and uses his other hand to hold Hamzah’s dick through his boxers. Hamzah jumps back and leans back onto the sink.

Martin drops his head down to look at the floor and palms Hamzah like he’s trying to do it secretly. He’s barely even moving except for the twitch of his fingers and smallest drag of his palm. Hamzah starts regretting all his life’s choices but he forgets that when Martin brings his face closer to his boxers until he’s just nestled into Hamzah’s crotch.

It’s so gay. Hamzah could puke. His dick twitches.

Martin seems to snap out of it and looks up at Hamzah for a second before remembering what he’s doing and pulling Hamzah’s boxers down quickly. Hamzah appreciates how red his face is, and then how much redder it gets with Hamzah fully exposed in front of him. It only lasts a second before the appreciation becomes embarrassment, though.

Finally, Martin grabs it with one hand, giving it a light stroke, and gives the tip a cautious lick and catches it in his mouth. It’s immediately overstimulating for Hamzah, especially considering it's the most Hamzah has gotten in months. Jesus.

It’s awkward and probably not the best blowjob Hamzah has gotten, realistically, but Martin’s lips wrapped around him, swollen and covered in spit is…

Hamzah groans and grips the edges of the sink hard. He throws his head back and clenches his eyes shut. He feels the urge to put a hand in Martin’s hair but he’s not far gone enough to know that's too intimate. He lets Martin do his thing below him and doesn't participate much.

He feels Martin’s hands push up Hamzah’s hoodie and shirt to grab him by the waist and kneed at the skin there. His hands are cold but that’s not the only reason Hamzah is shaking.

With his eyes closed, the wet noises are too clear. The vibrations bounce around inside his skull. When it becomes too much, he opens his eyes to see Martin slowly going deeper with every bob of his head, until his nose meets the bush of curly hair at the base. It’s not flawless; he gags and has to pull back pretty quickly, but, nonetheless, he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to see Martin the same. What the fuck.

It only gets messier from there. Martin gets the hang of it and speeds up his movements, jerking what he can’t reach with his hand. They make eye contact for a moment; Hamzah watches Martin blink away a few tears and then has to look away. He throws his head back and tries not to think too hard.

Then, it seems to come out of nowhere.

“Martin, Martin– Stop–” He does his best to warn Martin but he won’t budge. With tears streaking down his face, he grips onto Hamzah’s thighs hard and buries his mouth deeper on Hamzah's cock. And Hamzah is coming. Inside his best friend's mouth.

He can't tell if he's making noise, can't focus on anything except for the fact that he can see Martin touching himself now, and Martin’s eyes are rolling to the back of his head. It looks straight out of some fucking porno.

Hamzah barely gets to enjoy it before Martin is pulling off of him, then, before Martin is jumping up to spit it out in the sink. The sight is mortifying. Hamzah will never forget it.

Once he has his shorts back on, Hamzah drops his head in his hands and it’s silent for a good 5 minutes before either of them say anything.

Martin clears his throat, like he’s about to start speaking, but Hamzah cuts him off.

“Sorry.” It comes out sounding more meager than he’d wanted it to. He shakes his head as if he could just shake off everything that just happened.

“I shouldn’t want you so bad,” Martin suddenly confesses, and Hamzah can tell Martin just now thought about Mandy. At that, he laughs internally.

“You don’t need to want me. You have me.” It’s supposed to sound like he’s above Martin’s bullshit but the cracking in his voice betrays him and it just comes out sounding pathetic. Martin doesn’t mention it.

“Hamzah…” Martin never finishes his sentence and it’s only then that Hamzah realizes Martin’s expecting him to make eye contact.

“Let me guess: this can’t happen again?” Hamzah finally looks up to Martin’s face and starts to feel a little bad for him. His lips are red and he has a wet spot at the front of his pants. He should really be the one embarrassed but Martin doesn't seem to care.

“Hamzah. Why are you acting like that’s an irrational thing to say?” His voice is breaking and Hamzah can tell he’s on the brink of tears. Hamzah smiles.

“Look, I’m dealing with my own shit right now so I don’t feel like having this conversation. Can we just both assume that we’re on the same page and not talk about it?”

He knows he’s being mean. They’re both suffering internally right now, even if Martin for stupider reasons. But he can’t help getting irritated. It’s nobody's fault but Martin’s that he cheated on Mandy.

“Okay.” Martin says. “This never happened.”

Chapter Text

That night, he goes home and the first thing he does is throw up. It feels like the natural thing to do.

Even days later, he doesn’t stop throwing up. But it’s good, like a nightly routine. He throws up, he brushes his teeth, and he goes to bed. It may not be healthy, but, on nights where the shame is unbearable, the nausea and the bad taste that he can't quite wash out of his mouth distract him enough to be able to sleep.

He feels relieved after he does it. Almost like, along with whatever food he’d eaten that day, the sin is purged from him.

It’s not true at all, and he always feels worse the next day, but he has a few pounds to lose for the fight anyway.

///

Despite the private misery, Hamzah is good at pretending. Apparently, Martin is too.

It’s fucking annoying. Hamzah is fine, but he didn’t expect Martin to be. He thought Martin would be more affected by everything, but it’s like Martin just forgot it ever happened.

(Which is exactly what they’d said they’d do, but since when does Martin care about keeping his word?)

Hamzah feels like at any point he could reach his limit and snap. It just doesn't make sense. Hamzah’s not gay, but Martin is; this whole situation has confirmed it for him. Shouldn't Martin be having an existential crisis about being in love with his best friend when he’s supposed to be proposing to his girlfriend soon?

All the while Hamzah goes insane, Martin gets to wake up next to Mandy every morning. Martin gets to fall asleep with Mandy in his arms. Martin gets to forget all about Hamzah as he drifts off to bed.

It’s not fair. Martin can be with Mandy for the rest of his life. Martin can get married to the woman of his dreams. Martin can be with a woman, and nobody would even suspect it. Because it would be real.

Nevertheless, he’s had plenty of time to think about that night, and he knows it was just as much for Martin as it was for him, if not more. This he knows from the memory of Martin soiling his boxers with just a hand over his pants and a dick in his mouth. Martin may act nonchalant, but Hamzah knows he can get to him.

Hamzah is good at pretending, and he won’t be the first one to break. There will be a next time, and Hamzah will not be the one to initiate it. He will prove that Martin wants him.

Hamzah smiles and shoves a hand in his pants.

///

Hamzah knew he was going to win the boxing match. He’s sure Martin did too.

Hamzah trained harder. Hamzah threw harder punches. Hamzah put all his anger into it, and he had a lot of anger.

Martin, on the other hand, couldn't hurt Hamzah. He probably felt bad for him. Martin could lose the fight and still go home with 14 extra pounds and a girlfriend to cuddle with.

Hamzah doesn't know what he would've done if he lost. That’s a scary thought.

///

The boxing match left Hamzah with a completely different brain chemistry than before. Maybe that’s brain damage, but it meant that Hamzah could think about things from a whole different perspective.

So, Here's the thing: Martin has always been more patient than Hamzah. They've shaved their heads together, fucking boxed eachother, and released a whole documentary in the time since that night, and Martin still hasn't shown any sign of having remembered anything happening.

Thankfully, Mandy is away on vacation in California or something, so Hamzah thinks he has an opportunity.

///

Hamzah knocks, taking in a deep breath, which he doesn’t have time to let out before Martin is already opening the door.

“Hey, man,” Hamzah breathes out, wiping his hands on his pants for no reason.

“Hey. What did you want to talk about?” Martin’s voice is flat.

“Okay, nice to see you too?” Hamzah humors. It’s not genuine, but his smile is. “Can you at least let me in first?”

Martin nods and moves to let Hamzah in quickly, like he’s embarrassed. That’s good.

“So, how have you been doing without Mandy?” Hamzah walks by Martin in the kitchen and makes his way over to the couch. He’ll be here for a while.

Martin is silent for a while. He just looks at Hamzah like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.

“Well, we weren't exactly on good terms when she left. I've kind of just been thinking about our relationship a lot.” Hamzah watches as Martin joins him in the living room, really examining him for the first time that day. He can definitely tell that he’s not thriving without his girlfriend-mommy to keep him in shape.

“What happened? Are you okay?” He tries to sound casual, encouraging Martin to talk more while still being as casual as he would usually be.

“Uh, I’m fine. She just feels like I’m embarrassing her by taking so long to propose.”

It’s reasonable. Hamzah would be mad as hell if he was Mandy.

Martin finally sits himself down on the opposite side of the couch from Hamzah and props his hands on his legs. He looks uneasy. Hamzah doesn't know how to feel.

“What’s up with you, though?” Martin looks over at Hamzah, voice pitching up as he questions him. “What the hell was that text about?”

He had texted Martin saying that he had something really important to talk about. Hamzah didn't think it was that weird, although he guesses he doesn't send many texts like that.

“Well- uh- I just wanted to… you know… talk about some things.”

Martin raises his eyebrows and smiles like he has a joke with himself. Hamzah coughs.

“I just don’t want you to have any confusion about… my… about me.” Hamzah winces at his own stammering but he continues as he watches Martin’s eyebrows furrow. “I’m not… you know- I don't have any feelings for you. Besides friendship ones. So, I just didn't want to lead you on. Or anything like that.”

Martin squints his eyes and his mouth opens but Hamzah doesn't let him speak yet.

“You're my best friend, of course, but I think it would be better if we kept our relationship a little bit more professional, for now.” The words don't even sound right coming out of his mouth, but he hopes it's enough for Martin to get riled up.

“Wait- what are you trying to say right now?” Martin’s voice comes louder than Hamzah expects it to and he has to hold himself back from cowering. “You want to stop being friends?”

“Look- I- I just think we could… spend a little less time together? When we're not recording.”

There’s a moment of silence, then. Martin turns to look at the floor. Hamzah picks at his cuticles nervously while he watches the cogs in Martin’s head turn. Then, Hamzah’s eyes open wider when Martin turns back to look at him.

“Hamzah, what do you think you're doing?”

Hamzah freezes and laughs nervously. “Uhh-”

“Do you want me to beg you not to leave? You want me to run after you? If you wanna leave, leave.”

Hamzah flinches like the words physically sting him. He’s so taken aback he can't even form a thought. He just sits there like an idiot, mouth slightly parted and eyes opened wider than they were a moment ago.

“Or, you could come over here and tell me what you really want. Have you been thinking about that night a lot?”

A smile surfaces on Martin’s face, replacing Hamzah’s own.

“I- I don't -” Hamzah instinctively backs himself into the couch as much as he can as he watches Martin get closer to him.

“Hey, it's okay.” Martin is whispering now, and Hamzah shudders, feeling the vibrations on his ear down his whole spine. “I won't tell anyone about this. No one has to know.”

Hamzah’s brain shuts down. It all happens so quickly, he doesn't even know what’s happening. All he knows is Martin’s close enough to touch now.

He doesn’t get to finish his thought then, because Martin places his hand in the middle of Hamzah’s back. It's unmoving, just sitting there, almost like a promise. Or a threat.

“Hamzah, I'll ask again. Why did you come here?”

Hamzah tries his best to reclaim (?) his composure.. He was just caught off guard for a second. He can get himself back together. But then he tries and fails to open his mouth, instead gulping pathetically. It’s loud, and he can see Martin’s eyes following his Adam's apple with his eyes amusingly.

There’s no way Hamzah will be able to answer Martin’s question in a way that isn't humiliating for him. Hamzah can hardly think with Martin’s hand pushing them closer together.

Hamzah now realizes how much muscle Martin still has. The fight was almost a month ago, and Hamzah hasn't gained any of the weight back. He hasn't asked Martin, but if he were to guess, he would say their weights are still as close as they were then.

“It’s okay, I know the answer.” Hamzah almost jumps back, Martin’s voice being so close to his ear that it travels down his spine.

Then, like he’s pitying Hamzah, Martin presses closer and locks their lips together.

Hamzah, having been starved of human affection for months and months, leans into it.

Martin’s lips are too soft. Hamzah can’t think. The soft brush of their lips. And then it’s wider. Thicker. Harder.

It’s not too long before an all too familiar feeling crawls up Hamzah’s spine. He doesn’t have time to move, doesn't have time to warn Martin before he’s breaking apart from the kiss with a gasp and puking all over his shirt.

His body is pumped full of adrenaline and he has nowhere to go with it. His arms sit in the air awkwardly, his chest heaves with his heavy, rapid breaths. Martin has backed up and taken his hands off Hamzah, looking down, painted in beige.

Hamzah’s on his feet now. He goes to leave Martin’s house but remembers that he ubered.

Of course, his plan to stay at Martin’s house was stupid. Hamzah was never in control. He’s been wrapped around Martin’s finger this whole time.

For years, at this point.

He realizes that he’s been standing stupidly at the entrance of Martin’s house. He turns around and sees Martin in the kitchen, gathering paper towels. He’s calm. Collected. Hamzah catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror from the corner of his eye.

He turns his head to really examine himself. He isn't calm or collected. There’s a little puke on his chin, but he’s mostly untouched (by the puke, atleast).

He suddenly feels nauseous again, and here comes Martin to save him. At some point, Martin changed his shirt. (How long has Hamzah been standing here?)

Hamzah’s looking down at their feet now. He hasn't made eye contact with Martin since the couch. He doesn’t plan to ever again.

But Martin places a hand on Hamzah’s neck, then. It’s heavy, and Hamzah almost expects to be pushed, but it just sits there. It’s warm.

“You’re easily scared.” Hamzah doesn't expect the voice to come. It scares him when it does. It’s a little rougher than Martin usually sounds, but still relatively calm.

Hamzah realizes that Martin was checking his heart beat. He’s embarrassed now.

He doesn't trust himself to speak, so he just stands like an idiot for the third time that night.

He also notices how big Martin’s arms still are. They may even be bigger than they were for the fight…

Hamzah finally looks up. Their height difference suddenly feels a lot bigger than it usually is.

///

So, Hamzah bends over in the same place he’s sure Mandy has a hundred times before him, and Martin fucks him just like that. The side of his face is pushed into the bed and he can't see Martin. Can't see anything besides Mandy’s bedside table.

This isn’t how he wanted it to go.

He feels so dirty. His dick is bobbing, and Martin has to spread his cheeks to get access to him. Hamzah sobs.

He’s pushed forward with every thrust and he’s starting to make an involuntary noise every time, but he can't even find it in himself to be embarrassed because he passed that a while ago. All he can do is will himself not to cry ‘cause he feels enough like a fucking girl already.

///

Martin finally proposed to Mandy. Hamzah finds out via Martin’s instagram story.

Well, that's not really fair. Martin has been telling him about it the past few weeks, and especially the days leading up to it, but it is technically true. Martin only told him of his plans.

Hamzah only knew it really happened because of the instagram story.

He holds down on the picture, gaze wandering over Mandy’s face. Her lips are perfect. Her smile is perfect.

He looks over at Martin, who's snuggled up against her and pointing at Mandy’s hand, which is right in the center of the photo. It really calls attention to the ring, but Hamzah is more focused on Martin’s face.

There's tears in his eyes, and he’s doing a stupid youtube thumbnail shocked face, and Hamzah can truly say it’s the happiest he’s seen Martin in a while.

Hamzah can't help but smile. And maybe cry a little bit. Out of happiness for his best friend.

He’s so happy for him. Really. Hook him up to a lie detector right now, it will tell you the same.

He chooses not to swipe up. He goes directly to Martin’s dms instead, sending him a voice message.

“Congrats man. It took you long enough.” He laughs. “I’m excited to see husband-Martin. I wonder how that’ll suit you.”

Silence.

“Love you, man.”

///

Hamzah stares at the notification on his lockscreen and waits a few minutes until he opens it. He reads it over and over.

He finally opens it and reads it again, this time with the dark background of imessage showing him his own reflection.

“can i come over?” It’s a basic message. Straight to the point. But he can hear Martin’s voice in his head when he reads it, and he knows what it is. Martin wants to have him one last time before he locks in and marries Mandy.

Martin probably thinks of it like a parting gift. What a dick.

He knows what he has to say. But he knows he’s not gonna say it.

Martin is probably already driving anyway.

///

Then, it’s like a switch flips in Hamzah’s head. Before he knows it, he’s turning them around and backing Martin into the door to his bedroom. Martin gasps, the air being punched out of him, but Hamzah doesn't give him time to speak.

He presses their bodies together and kisses him hard. His tongue breaches Martin’s mouth and drags against his teeth. Hamzah thinks he could cut himself with them, and the thought is exciting for a moment, but he doesn't feel like dealing with a bloody tongue right now.

For now, he hikes a hand up Martin’s shirt, feeling his chest that’s still a lot buffer than it was last year. He rubs his hand over the muscle, squeezing it for a moment and relishing in the sound Martin makes into his mouth.

When he breaks away, Martin’s eyes are wide, and his face is bright pink. His hands are frozen in the air around Hamzah, and it’s like he’s paralyzed. Hamzah pities him.

And then they're in Hamzah’s bed, tongues in each other's mouths and hands reaching for anything they could touch. Hamzah grips onto Martin’s shirt so hard he almost thinks he might rip it. He doesn't move his hands, Martin does it for him.

“Do you have… Uh…”

“Don’t do that,” Hamzah mutters, his voice barely intelligible. “I’m fine from last time.”

Martin just stares for a second before scoffing. “Hamzah, I’m not doing that to you. I’m not an asshole.” Hamzah scoffs and thinks to say yeah, you’re not the asshole here, but he bites his tongue.

“Hamzah, I am going to prep you.” He sounds like he’s speaking to a child. “I will make sure it feels good for both-”

“Shut the fuck up.” Hamzah hisses through his teeth. And Martin does. The way he always does when Hamzah’s scaring him.

Please. It has to hurt. It’s a punishment.

They stare at each other then, Hamzah doing his best to communicate to Martin how badly he needs this without seeming too desperate. His dignity hasn't been intact for a while now, though, so it doesn't really matter.

Martin’s eyes are wide and his eyebrows are turned upwards. He looks like a guilty dog.

Here, Hamzah realizes he could tell Martin to do anything right now, and he’d do it. He’s never seen this part of Martin before.

(He doesn’t ask Martin to hit him. Because he’d do it and he’d do it well. Then he’d speak softly in his ear and touch him too sweetly to resist. It’s a bad idea. Hamzah will take control instead.)

So, Hamzah straddles Martin and pushes his chest down into the bed. He unzips Martin’s pants, and Martin moves to help him but Hamzah swats his hands away. He doesn't make eye contact. He pulls Martin’s pants down just far enough to get his dick out and leaves them there.

It’s the first time he really gets a clear view of it, but he doesn’t let himself look for too long. He moves to remove his own boxers to distract himself. There’s never distraction enough to really let Hamzah forget, though. When Martin puts a hand on Hamzah’s waist, he looks up to make eye contact with him. It’s like Martin is paralyzed. If Hamzah’s brain were less foggy, he would be pleased with this.

For now, he pools some spit in his mouth and licks it onto his hand. With that, he takes ahold of Martin’s cock and jerks it lazily. There’s some satisfaction in the way Martin’s stomach caves in a little bit and his breath hitches, but it’s purely practical. He’s getting Martin hard enough to get what he needs.

For a moment he thinks it’s not gonna go in. The tip just pushes against him awkwardly, and it seems as likely as an atom clipping through another. But Hamzah, the persistent, pushes his own body down as hard as he can.

About half of it is forced in. It feels like Hamzah’s getting split open. At first, there’s not even any pain. Everything is just cold. Then, he lets out a noise that he hopes isn’t a scream and the pain is all he can process. His nerves are on fire. He can feel his skin ripping to let the intrusion in. To let this intrusion happen.

Martin immediately tries to sit up and grabs Hamzah, who has started to shake now, by the shoulders. He says Hamzah’s name and something else, but Hamzah’s eyes are shut tight and he blocks it all out.

“Shut up,” Hamzah hisses through gritted teeth. When Martin freezes, his mind seemingly completely blank in panic, Hamzah takes his time to breathe. He takes deep breaths, and exhales shakily, but slowly.

Then, opening his eyes, he prepares himself. He’s looking down, but he can see Martin holding himself halfway-up with his elbows from his peripheral vision. With one final deep breath, he releases his weight from his trembling arm and puts it all in his legs instead, using his core to push down.

The pain is immediate this time, and it stabs all over his body. He stops abruptly again with another cry, throwing his head down and screwing his eyes shut again.

“H-Hamzah I really-” Martin interrupts himself with a groan when Hamzah suddenly sits himself all the way down. Hamzah really screams this time. He wasn’t even expecting himself to do that, doesn’t even process that it happened until the black of his eyelids start to get brighter and he has to open his eyes.

He can feel Martin’s skin against his now. He can see Martin’s clearly-scared expression, but he can also feel the proof of Martin’s arousal move inside of him.

The pain is mostly concentrated at his opening now. It burns, but if Hamzah tries hard enough, he can focus on the increasing

It’s then that Hamzah realizes he’s getting hard for the first time that night. It makes him laugh, and his rhythm falters.

This is good. This is what he wanted. This is what he needed. (He repeats this in his head like they’re affirmations.)

///

Then, in between heavy breaths, “Oh my god.”

It’s now that Martin finally, finally understands what the fuck just happened. It takes Hamzah curled up into a ball, blood and cum leaking from his asshole, sobbing harder than he has in years, for Martin to get it. For Martin to get that Hamzah will never be the same. That Martin ruined him.

Or, that Martin has let Hamzah ruin himself.

Hamzah can’t be mad at Martin. He can’t do anything right now, especially not move. He clutches his knees to his chest and hopes that Martin would just leave.

He wishes that Martin would just leave.

He prays that Martin would just leave.

But Martin is here, doing some cheap imitation of after care with a hand in Hamzah’s hair and some words he can’t even hear over the buzzing in his head.

He can vaguely make out something like “Be back,” followed by the sound of Martin leaving the room. Hamzah uses this time to stop sobbing for a second so he can breathe. His breaths are shaky, but atleast hes breathing.

He tries to sit up, but the pain hits him hard, and he has to lay on his side again.