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The marble halls of Castrum Kremnos glistened faintly in the dusklight, gilded torch sconces casting long shadows across its polished floors. The cold of the stone seeped through the soles of Mydei’s boots as he trudged through the corridor, the weight of his armor hanging heavy on sweat-slick limbs. Dust and travel clung to him, and though his chin was held high, his gait betrayed him, uneven, exhausted, and cracking beneath the strain of the campaign's end.
He passed the hall of blades without a glance, his mind elsewhere. The familiar scent of home - of iron, old parchment, and myrrh, wreathed around him, half-comforting and half-unsettling, as if he no longer fit entirely in the place that bore his family crest. His pauldrons scraped against the doorframe when he finally reached his chambers, a sound too loud in the silence. The door clicked shut behind him, and Mydei exhaled like a man who had been holding his breath for weeks.
His quarters were dimly lit, the fire in the hearth reduced to a bed of amber coals. The bed was half-shadowed by drawn velvet curtains, but the flicker of screen light drew his eye.
There, reclining as if he owned the place, or perhaps simply because he didn’t care who did, Phainon lounged on the edge of Mydei’s bed. One leg curled beneath him, the other stretched out and crossed at the ankle. His uniform jacket was gone, replaced by something soft and informal, undone at the throat. His silver-white hair spilled carelessly around his face, catching the glow of the screen he held loosely in one hand. And though his gaze appeared fixed on the device, Mydei knew better.
Those strange, gleaming eyes, mischievous, calculating, always watching, lifted to meet his own. Phainon said nothing, he didn’t need to.
Mydei looked away first, tugging at the clasps of his gauntlets with sharp, practiced movements. The buckles stuck, and his hands trembled slightly, either from exhaustion or the sudden shift in atmosphere. The gauntlets hit the floor with a hollow clunk, followed by his chestplate, landing haphazardly against a carved bench with a groan of metal.
“You’re staring,” Mydei muttered, half-biting, his voice roughened by dust and silence.
Phainon tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Of course I am. You do make a spectacle of yourself, My Lord .”
Mydei scoffed, tossing a half-laced boot toward the wall with a grunt. “You’re not meant to be in my bed.”
“And yet,” Phainon replied, flipping his phone onto the nightstand with a quiet tap , “I’m here. Funny how that works.”
He rose with an easy grace, one that irritated Mydei far more than he’d ever admit aloud; fluid, assured, as though the world itself bent politely out of his way. He walked to him slowly, the firelight casting gold into his pale eyes, hands tucked into his pockets like he hadn’t just made himself entirely at home in a seat of power not his own.
“You look tired,” Phainon murmured, reaching for the last clasp at Mydei’s shoulder. “Battered. Glorious. It suits you.”
Mydei’s breath caught as fingers brushed the bare skin of his throat, the metal shoulderplate falling away with a dull thunk . Heat pooled low in his stomach. He wasn’t sure if it was from the proximity or the words, or both.
“Save your flattery,” he said, but his voice lacked venom now. His body leaned forward of its own accord, drawn to that familiar gravitational pull. “You say it too easily.”
Phainon leaned in, breath ghosting over his ear. “That’s only because I mean it.”
The last of his armor hit the floor in pieces, revealing the sheen of sweat that stretched over Mydei’s frame. He looked like something carved from stone, tired but divine, bruised but unbroken. And Phainon gazed at him with all the solemnity of a man admiring the altar before desecrating it.
His hand fluttered just above his waistband, palm pressing against the warm line of Mydei’s abdomen. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, softly, unexpectedly sincere.
“No,” Mydei replied, low and certain.
The word was barely spoken before Phainon moved, allowing his fingers to graze over his chest, skin mapped with the faint violet bloom of fading impact, the long curve of muscle beneath a soldier’s tension. He guided Mydei backward toward the bed, eyes never leaving him.
“You know,” Phainon murmured as Mydei dropped onto the mattress, breathing ragged, “I could’ve stayed in a palace tonight. Warm silks. A window view.”
“And yet,” Mydei echoed, echoing him now with the same breathless sarcasm, “you’re here.”
Phainon grinned, half-shadow and all sin.
“Exactly.”
He leaned down, knees on either side of Mydei’s hips, hands planted on either side of his shoulders as he settled above him. Mydei’s hands went instinctively to Phainon’s waist, fingers sliding beneath the fabric of his shirt, gripping warm skin and the fine lines of his back. He pulled him down, closer, so their bodies met flush, so heat passed easily between them, so there was no space for breath that wasn’t shared.
And when Phainon kissed him, it was nothing like the lazy smirks or sarcastic quips that preceded it.
It was messy from the start, neither poised nor calculated, all heat and tongue and the sharp click of teeth when they didn’t quite line up. Mydei was the first to deepen it, anchoring Phainon with a hand at the nape of his neck, pulling him down with bruising insistence. The taste of him was faintly sweet, faintly sharp, like wine turned dark in the back of Mydei’s throat, intoxicating and unforgiving. Their mouths met again and again, greedy and unrelenting, no longer kisses so much as devouring.
Phainon exhaled a soft, breathless laugh against his lips, half-moan, half-mockery. “Did you miss me that much, My Lord?”
The title landed like a spark on dry kindling. Mydei growled low in his chest and pushed up, flipping their positions with a force that startled even him. Phainon let out a noise as his back hit the bed, more amused than alarmed, his eyes glinting like polished coins under firelight.
“I’ll wipe that smile off your face,” Mydei muttered against his throat, his voice roughened to something guttural. “If you can’t keep quiet.”
“Is that a promise?” Phainon purred, shifting beneath him deliberately, the friction of their bodies grinding together enough to wring a broken sound from Mydei’s throat. “Because I quite like it when you talk like that.”
“Of course you do.” Mydei’s hands slid beneath the soft fabric of Phainon’s shirt, gripping his sides hard enough to leave marks. “You like playing with fire. You’ve just never been burned properly.”
“Then show me,” Phainon whispered.
That was all the provocation Mydei needed.
His lips found Phainon’s again, and this time there was no hesitation, no tentative pressing of mouths, no dance of breath. It was hungry, sloppy. Mydei kissed like a man starved, like he was determined to claim something with tongue and teeth and the sharp drag of nails against skin. Phainon’s legs shifted around him, thighs spreading, hips canting upward in a rhythm that demanded more. Phainon’s clothes were still on, but barely, soaked through with heat and sweat, the friction of cloth on cloth only heightening the need crawling beneath their skin.
Mydei rutted against him, groaning low, barely muffled against Phainon’s mouth. The friction was maddening, almost enough, somehow never enough, his cock hard and aching, grinding against the line of Phainon’s thigh through the fabric of his trousers. Every movement made his breath hitch, every grind made Phainon moan into the kiss, their mouths parting with strings of spit catching on their lips.
“You’re desperate,” Phainon gasped, hands clutching at Mydei’s shoulders, his tone taunting but frayed. “You’re, gods, you’re acting like you’re in heat , Mydei - ”
Mydei bit his lower lip, just enough to draw a gasp. “If you keep talking,” he growled, dragging his teeth down Phainon’s jaw, “I’m going to make sure you can’t say a word for hours.”
Phainon trembled beneath him, and for all his bravado, he arched helplessly into Mydei’s touch when one hand slipped between them, palming him through the thin material of his trousers. “Try me,” he breathed.
His brow twitched.
Mydei tore his shirt open, unphased as buttons scattered amongst the sheets beneath them, baring Phainon’s chest to the cold air and his greedy hands. The contrast made Phainon shiver beneath him, pale skin flushed rose and kissed with goosebumps, his chest rising with every shallow, panting breath.
“You never learn,” Mydei said, low and hungry, his hand slipping beneath Phainon’s waistband now, fingers brushing over the hard line of him. “But I’ll teach you. Again.”
And from the look in Phainon’s eyes, half-lidded and hungry, he was counting on it.
The air was thick now, clinging to skin and breath like steam rising off blood-warmed stone. Mydei’s patience, already worn thin from days on the road and nights without release, frayed further with every word that spilled from Phainon’s mouth. Even now, sprawled beneath him, flushed, panting, Phainon couldn’t resist the urge to needle him. It was who he was: sharp-tongued, amused by chaos, even if he was half-undone in the midst of it.
“You’re glaring,” Phainon whispered, voice threadbare with arousal, eyes glittering. “It’s a good look on you, rage and hunger. Though I don’t think you’re quite - ”
Mydei cut him off by biting into the skin just beneath his jaw, relishing in the sharp gasp that burst from Phainon’s mouth, his back arching into the touch. Mydei’s tongue soothed the mark immediately after, licking into the warmth of the forming bruise as if he were claiming it, branding him with spit and teeth. He trailed lower, slow and punishing, biting down again at the juncture of shoulder and throat, then pressing wet kisses over the rapid beat of Phainon’s pulse.
“Talk too much,” he muttered against his skin, voice rough with irritation, though the sound bordered too closely on a growl of want. “You always do.”
Phainon moaned in response, smug even while writhing beneath the press of Mydei’s mouth. “And yet you never leave,” he said, breath hitching as Mydei licked over his sternum. “Maybe you like it. Maybe you want - ”
Mydei sat up onto his knees, one hand braced hard against Phainon’s chest, holding him down as the other yanked his own waistband low, just enough to free himself, flushed and aching. Phainon blinked up at him, lips parted, words ready on his tongue, and then paused, expression shifting, his breath catching mid-thought.
“Oh,” he said, voice suddenly much softer.
Mydei leaned forward again, slower now, until the blunt head of his cock pressed against Phainon’s lips.
“You want to use that mouth?” Mydei asked, the tip already smeared slick with precome as he dragged it across Phainon’s bottom lip. “Use it for something useful .”
Phainon’s lips parted without protest, and that smugness gave way to something else entirely, need, surrender, something warmer and far less composed. Mydei slid in slowly, watching his eyes, watching the flutter of his lashes as the length of him disappeared past those lips. His fingers tangled into Phainon’s hair, gripping hard enough to anchor, to control.
The first sound was a wet gag , sharp and sudden when Mydei pressed deeper than expected, hitting the back of his throat with little warning. Phainon choked around him immediately, a strained sound swallowed into something half-moan, half-gasp, his throat convulsing around the intrusion.
Mydei groaned low, the sound punched out of him at the sudden, unbearable heat. “Better,” he muttered, hips rolling forward with slow, firm intent. “Much better.”
Every motion was audible, obscene and wet, the suck of saliva as Phainon’s mouth struggled to adjust. His eyes watered, lashes clumping at the corners, but he didn’t pull away, not once. Mydei’s grip tightened, holding him steady as he began to fuck into his mouth properly now, the slap of skin against lips a steady, growing rhythm. Each thrust dragged another wet choke out of Phainon, another delicious, needy sound muffled around the girth stretching his mouth open.
The room was filled with it, the slick, rhythmic gluck of Phainon’s throat, the smothered gags and gasps every time Mydei bottomed out too hard, the groan that escaped him when he looked down and saw tears beading in the corners of those bright, sharp eyes.
“Still think you’ve got something clever to say?” he asked, voice hoarse, sweat beading at his brow. Phainon tried to shake his head, tried to answer, but his mouth was too full, his jaw too slack, and all that came out was a strangled moan around the thick slide of Mydei’s cock down his throat.
He looked beautiful like this, undone, his usual composure shattered beneath the weight of Mydei’s hips. Each time he coughed, Mydei growled, pressing deeper, his rhythm punishing now, using every inch of that teasing mouth until it trembled to hold him.
Mydei’s fingers dug deeper into the soft white strands of Phainon’s hair, anchoring tight at the roots as if holding on for control of the moment, of himself, of the man beneath him. He grunted as he drove forward again, hips snapping with little restraint now, the angle brutal, merciless. The slick, obscene sounds of it echoed off the stone walls of the chamber, each thrust wet and loud, the noise of saliva, spit, and slick friction a debauched symphony.
Phainon gagged around him again, violently this time, throat convulsing around the thick length lodged deep in his mouth, and Mydei’s grip only tightened, his breath hissing through clenched teeth.
“Gods, just like that,” he groaned, the praise a low, guttural sound dragged out by pleasure too sharp to soften. “You’re taking me so fucking well.”
Phainon’s nails scraped at the sheets, clinging to the fabric like it might anchor him through the storm. His throat bulged obscenely around Mydei’s cock with each hard thrust, spit leaking from the corners of his lips in wet strings, his chin slick with it, his cheeks flushed crimson from the lack of air. His eyes were glassy now, watering, red-rimmed, and Mydei drank in the sight with dark hunger burning in his gaze.
Every time Phainon started to go still, choking and shivering, Mydei would pull back, not all the way, just enough to let him gasp, just enough for him to gulp down a single breath, maybe two, before driving forward again and robbing it from him all over again.
“Don’t get lazy,” Mydei muttered roughly, sweat beading at his brow, hips relentless. “You wanted to run that mouth, use it.”
Phainon whimpered around him, the sound choked and raw, barely audible over the slick wetness filling the room. Each thrust was a punch of wet suction, each retreat a lewd pop of pressure as his lips clung, red and swollen, to Mydei’s length. The bed creaked beneath them, a slow rhythm matched only by the ruinous noise of Mydei fucking his throat.
“Fuck, look at you.” Mydei’s voice cracked slightly, low and reverent. “Drooling down your chin, gagging on it like you were made for this. Like this is what that sharp tongue was meant for.”
Phainon’s eyes fluttered, rolling briefly as Mydei shoved in deep again, hips flush to his face, holding him there for a beat too long. Phainon’s throat spasmed around him, a ragged, strangled glck filling the air, followed by a gasping, stuttering sound when Mydei pulled back just enough to let him wheeze in a breath.
And gods, that noise. That helpless choke, slick and wet, paired with the obscene, sticky trails of spit connecting his cock to Phainon’s lips; it had almost unraveled Mydei then and there. He pushed in again, faster now, angling up and in with each brutal thrust, grinding past the soft resistance of his throat, fucking through the gags and twitches and the wet, sloppy mess of it all.
“You feel so good,” he growled, voice slipping lower, close to breaking. “So fucking good for me. Gods, listen to you - ”
And Phainon did make a sound just then, some desperate, broken noise that sent a full-body shudder through Mydei. It was loud, guttural, a choked-back cry made worse by the fact that it was stifled mid-thrust, reduced to little more than a shattered groan vibrating along the underside of Mydei’s cock.
Mydei rutted forward again, the slick slap of spit and skin filling the space between them, all rhythm and ruin.
“Breathe when I let you,” he hissed, and Phainon, gagging, drooling, tears streaming now, nodded as best he could, lips stretched around him in something close to obedience.
The tension that had been coiled tight in Mydei’s spine finally broke with a guttural sound torn from the base of his throat. His hips stuttered forward, pressed flush against Phainon’s face, cock buried deep, too deep, but Phainon didn’t push back, didn’t gag this time, he swallowed .
Mydei groaned, the sound guttural, almost wounded, as the unexpected pulse of Phainon’s throat milked every last drop from him. Heat surged up his spine, white-hot and blinding, his grip in Phainon’s hair tightening as his body trembled with release. Each swallow was audible, obscene, the slick, eager sound of it making Mydei twitch inside him.
He pulled back suddenly, cock slipping wet and swollen from Phainon’s mouth, glistening with spit and come. Phainon gasped, eyes fluttering open as air rushed down his ravaged throat, lips red and shining. Mydei didn’t give him time to recover. He stroked himself once, twice, over his ruined lips, and then painted the rest of his release across his flushed cheek and chin, the sticky warmth catching in the dip of his collarbone, across his tongue when Phainon instinctively opened for more.
He was a mess, filthy and divine, eyes glassy, mouth slack, breath ragged, and Mydei couldn’t stop looking.
“Look at you,” Mydei murmured, voice rough, almost reverent. “So pretty like this. All that arrogance wiped off your face and replaced with this .”
Phainon blinked slowly up at him, dazed and panting. A line of spit still connected his lips to Mydei’s cock, trembling slightly with each shallow breath. His hands were curled uselessly at his sides, trembling from the strain, and for a moment it looked like he might finally be speechless.
But then, with a soft, rasped laugh that cracked midway through, Phainon wet his lips, slow and deliberate, and managed, “You... sound surprised.”
Mydei stilled.
“Didn’t think I could swallow around you like that, mm?” he added, voice low and strained, a grin flickering at the corners of his mouth despite how wrecked he sounded. “That’s.. poor strategic foresight, My Lord.”
There was a moment of silence, sharp, tense, crackling in the air like a lightning strike about to split the sky.
Then Mydei moved.
He grabbed Phainon under the thighs, hoisting him further up the bed with startling ease, the force of it drawing a surprised yelp from Phainon’s throat. Pillows scattered behind him as his back was pushed up against the carved headboard, legs spread around Mydei’s hips, still fully clothed from the waist down, but trembling, pliant, dripping with the aftermath of what he’d taken.
“Poor strategy,” Mydei echoed, tone dark with amusement and heat. “You want to talk about strategy , after everything?”
He leaned in close, nose brushing Phainon’s, breath ghosting hot against spit-slick lips.
“I haven’t even started with you.”
Phainon’s breath hitched, throat bobbing as he swallowed again, this time around nothing but air and anticipation. His expression flickered, desire and challenge and something dangerously close to surrender.
“And here I thought,” he whispered, voice threadbare but defiant, “you already had.”
Mydei smiled then, slow and wolfish, something ancient glinting in the edge of his gaze. His hands slid under Phainon’s thighs, gripping tight, anchoring him in place like a man staking a claim.
“Oh, no,” he murmured. “That was mercy.”
He rocked his hips forward, grinding against the obvious bulge in Phainon’s trousers, teasing at the friction they both knew wasn’t nearly enough. “This,” he said, punctuating the motion with another hard roll of his hips, “is where it stops being kind.”
Phainon barely had time to brace himself before Mydei’s hands were on him again, firm, demanding, and utterly without patience. The remnants of Phainon’s trousers were still clinging to his hips, half-undone, dark with sweat and slick. Mydei didn’t bother with clasps or buttons this time. With a grunt, he gripped the fabric at both sides and tore it apart, the soft sound of ripping seams drowned out by Phainon’s startled gasp.
“Really?” Phainon breathed, legs falling further apart as Mydei pushed the ruined clothing away. “Is that how Kremnos nobles treat their guests?”
“You’re not a guest,” Mydei muttered, tossing the shredded cloth aside. His gaze swept down the length of him, pale, flushed, shining with sweat, thighs twitching with anticipation, cock already stiff where it lay against his belly. “You’re mine .”
That shut Phainon up for a moment, long enough for Mydei to slip two fingers between his lips.
“Suck,” he ordered, voice low but leaving no room for argument.
Phainon smirked around them, cheeks hollowing slowly, deliberately, his gaze never breaking. He sucked like he knew exactly what was coming next, like he wanted to make it worse. His tongue swirled lazily around Mydei’s fingers, lips forming a perfect seal, taking them deep with the same practiced ease he’d shown before.
Mydei watched him with heavy-lidded eyes, his cock twitching at the sight, at the warmth of that slick mouth around his skin. He leaned in slightly, bracing himself with one hand beside Phainon’s head as his fingers pushed deeper.
“You’re always like this,” he murmured, his tone rough and amused, “mouthy until there’s something in it.”
Phainon hummed around him, eyes glittering, lashes damp. His teeth grazed lightly on the retreat, not enough to hurt, just enough to taunt. Mydei pulled his fingers free with a wet pop, strands of saliva catching on the withdrawal, stretching thin and then breaking.
Without warning, he slid them down between Phainon’s thighs and pressed one against his entrance. He didn’t hesitate, not anymore, and Phainon’s back arched the moment the slick digit breached him.
“Oh, fuck - ” The curse tore from him, hands flying to Mydei’s arms, nails digging into solid muscle. His thighs quivered around Mydei’s hips, his whole body tensing and then fluttering around the intrusion.
“Gods, you’re tight,” Mydei muttered, voice thick with desire as he eased in deeper, down to the knuckle. “Even now. After everything you’ve said, how bold you act, you’re still clenching like you’re not used to being touched.”
Phainon gasped, the bratty retort caught somewhere behind gritted teeth. His nails bit in harder, anchoring himself as Mydei began to work the finger slowly, dragging it out and pressing back in with deliberate, calculated motion. Then a second joined it, and Phainon let out a strangled moan, head tipping back against the headboard with a thud .
“Ah, shit, that ” he panted, chest heaving, the sharp flush spreading down his throat. “That’s not - don’t act like you’re being gentle - ”
“I’m not,” Mydei said simply, curling his fingers just right. Phainon shuddered , his mouth falling open around a helpless sound, high and wrecked. “I’m being thorough.”
His other hand moved to cradle Phainon’s hip, steadying him as he began to fuck his fingers in with more purpose, relentless now, precise, knuckles pressing in again and again until slick, wet noises filled the space between them. Phainon was already trembling, his body arching off the mattress, jaw slack, teeth biting into his bottom lip hard enough to sting.
And yet, he was still holding on, still baring his teeth through it.
Mydei leaned closer, breath brushing hot against his ear. “Still want to run that mouth, Phainon?” he asked, his voice like dark silk, smooth and cutting. “Tell me what strategy that is, shaking under me, begging without words.”
Phainon let out a hitched breath, a sound that fell somewhere between a laugh and a moan.
“I was just.. trying to keep your mind sharp,” he rasped, trembling as Mydei pressed deeper. “Diplomacy, you know. You - fuck - you’re welcome.”
Mydei chuckled then. A low, warm sound that curled in his chest and bloomed into something far more dangerous.
“You keep talking like that,” he warned, twisting his fingers just so, “and I’ll make sure you can’t walk straight out of this room.”
Phainon whimpered, no protest this time, no smugness; only the sharp sound of his breath stuttering in his throat, hips bucking into Mydei’s hand, mouth falling open as another wet, squelching noise filled the space where words used to be.
“You’re doing so well,” Mydei muttered then, unexpected praise slipped between his teeth like a confession. “So fucking good for me. Always knew you’d break pretty.”
Mydei worked his fingers in deep, dragging them in a steady rhythm that bordered on punishing. With every thrust, he curved them ever so slightly, watching with quiet intensity for the reaction he was hunting for.
Phainon jerked , his back arching off of the mattress as if struck by lightning, a ragged, unfiltered moan tearing from his throat, sharp and too loud in the echoing hush of the chamber. His hands scrabbled at the sheets, grasping for something, anything, to anchor himself as Mydei pressed again, slower this time, deliberately hitting the same spot.
“There it is,” Mydei murmured, almost to himself.
He did it once more, just to feel Phainon quake beneath his hands. The tremble of his thighs, the flex of his jaw, the stammered breath that fell apart before it ever became a word, it was intoxicating.
But Mydei didn’t indulge it for long, as much as he wanted to.
He pulled out abruptly, his fingers leaving Phainon slick and twitching. The sudden absence left Phainon blinking through the haze, dazed and blinking like he’d just been dragged up from deep water.
“Wha - ?” he managed, voice hoarse and confused, chest rising and falling in sharp, rapid bursts.
Before he could form a sentence, Mydei was flipping him over.
The motion was swift, decisive. One strong hand gripped his hip, the other braced his shoulder, and in seconds Phainon found himself on his stomach, chest pressed into the mattress, cheek against the cool linen, thighs parted by Mydei’s knees. He gasped, fingers curling tight into the sheets as his body adjusted, as his breath caught in his throat at the change in angle.
“Don’t move,” Mydei said, low and commanding, and Phainon didn’t even try to argue. He was pliant now, panting, lips parted in stunned silence.
Mydei reached between them, spitting into his hand without ceremony, the wet sound loud in the quiet, followed by the slick slide of his fist stroking over his cock. He coated himself thoroughly, slicking every inch until he was wet and shining, and then, without hesitation, lined himself up.
One hand anchored hard on the small of Phainon’s back, pinning him down.
The initial stretch was brutal .
Phainon cried out, sharp and breathless, the sound muffled by the pillow beneath his cheek. Mydei groaned above him, his jaw clenched tight, every muscle in his body straining as he buried himself slowly, inch by inch, into the tight, slick heat. He could feel every tremor, every twitch, every breathless stutter of Phainon’s hips as he struggled to take it.
“Fuck,” Mydei hissed, the curse torn from him as he bottomed out. “You’re so tight - gods, no matter how many times I ruin you, you’re - always so tight for me, aren’t you?”
Phainon made a noise then, high and raw, hips writhing beneath the weight holding him down. His fingers clenched uselessly into the sheets, and for once, he didn’t have anything clever to say. Just a string of half-broken syllables that might’ve been Mydei’s name, might’ve been curses, or might’ve just been wordless begging.
The stretch was overwhelming, a burn edged with pleasure, and Mydei didn’t move - yet . He stayed buried deep, grinding slow and deliberate to make sure Phainon felt every inch of it.
“You feel that?” he asked, voice low and near Phainon’s ear now, a hand curling under his ribs to keep him arched just so. “How deep I am?”
Phainon nodded, barely. He tried to answer, tried to shape the word yes , but all that came out was a sharp, trembling moan as Mydei rolled his hips once more, slow and punishing.
“You’re doing so well,” Mydei said, praise now a gentle thread woven into something far more possessive. “Taking me so well, even like this.”
Phainon made another sound, wet, strangled, open-mouthed and breathless, his body trembling under the strain. He clung to Mydei’s wrist now, the hand that still pressed into the small of his back, not to push him away but to hold him there , to ground himself against the relentless pressure of being filled so completely.
For a time, there was only the stillness, tense, thick, suspended like the silence before a landslide. Mydei’s hips were pressed flush against Phainon’s ass, buried to the hilt, his cock twitching deep inside the velvet heat of him. The only sounds were their ragged breaths and the faint crackle of the hearth, casting flickers of gold and shadow across sweat-slicked skin.
Phainon, sprawled beneath him, took in breath like it hurt, still dazed from the stretch, his thighs trembling and parted wide, the mattress beneath him growing damp with sweat and spit. His fingers curled in the sheets, knuckles pale with effort, but even now, even now , his voice found its way through.
“Mmh,” he groaned softly, lips pressed to the linen. “If I knew returning to Castrum Kremnos meant getting split in two, I might’ve dropped by sooner.”
Mydei stilled, and then, with a growl low in his throat, he moved .
His hips slammed forward, fast and brutal, the sound a wet, sharp smack as their skin met. Phainon choked on a cry, body jolting forward from the sheer force of it. Mydei didn’t relent. He set a punishing rhythm, deep, fast, loud , each thrust carving out space inside Phainon with single-minded ruthlessness. The room filled with it, a cacophony of flesh meeting flesh, the obscene squelch of slick friction, and the broken gasps torn from Phainon’s throat as he was driven forward against the bed again and again.
“You really - hah - never shut up,” Mydei bit out between thrusts, his voice sharp with focus and strain. “Even - fuck - with your mouth full, even split open, you just don’t stop.”
Phainon moaned, high and sharp, the mattress shifting violently beneath them. The angle was relentless, ruthless, each thrust punching into the spot that made him twitch and writhe. Mydei leaned over him now, pressing his body down, the weight of him forcing Phainon deeper into the mattress. The heat of his chest seared across Phainon’s back, his breath ghosting against the nape of his neck, hot and ragged.
One hand slid beneath Phainon’s body, slow, possessive, curling over the slick, trembling curve of his abdomen. Mydei’s palm pressed flat over his stomach, then began to feel downward, dragging across skin and tense muscle until -
“There,” Mydei whispered, and pressed in deeper with his hips just as his fingers found the bulge inside him.
Phainon cried out .
It wasn’t even a word, just a raw, fractured sound torn from somewhere deep in his chest. Mydei rutted forward again, fingers pressing down on that spot from the outside while his cock slammed into it from within, pinning him open with no room to breathe, no space to think .
“You feel that?” Mydei growled in his ear. “That’s me . Right there. Gods, you’re gripping me like you don’t want to let me go.”
Phainon gasped, face flushed and streaked with sweat, lips parted. “It’s not - my fault,” he rasped, each word caught on a moan, “you’re built like a - like a fucking siege engine , you - ”
The rest of it was lost in a strangled sound as Mydei’s arm curled up from under him and locked across his throat.
Not enough to cut off air completely, just enough to hold him, to control him, a thick bicep pressed tight against his windpipe, forcing his head back slightly. Phainon’s eyes fluttered, mouth falling open, his body going still beneath Mydei’s weight save for the frantic clench of muscle as he was fucked through the pressure.
“You wanted to feel it?” Mydei hissed, voice pitched low against his ear. “You wanted to know just how much you could take?”
His hips snapped forward again, brutally deep, cock grinding over that same tender place that made Phainon convulse with every pass. His fingers tightened on his stomach, feeling the way his own length bulged through him.
“Here. Feel it.”
Phainon tried to speak, tried to curse, or taunt, or just breathe , but all that came out was a breathless moan, broken and raw, his voice caught under the squeeze of Mydei’s arm and the unforgiving pace of his hips.
The whole bed rocked now, each thrust echoing through the stone chamber, every sound slick and wet and loud , the obscene slap of flesh against flesh punctuated only by the choked, ruined noises escaping from Phainon’s throat.
“You’re taking me so well,” Mydei murmured, his voice a low, grinding drawl that bled between his teeth. “Made for me. You’re mine, deliverer .”
It built fast, too fast. The sound of skin against skin was deafening now, drowning out the rest of the world, the crack of Mydei’s hips against Phainon’s thighs a relentless rhythm that left no room to breathe. The arm still cinched around Phainon’s neck made every gasp shallow, every moan broken, and the hand pressed over his lower stomach only added to the unbearable fullness.
Phainon clutched blindly at the sheets, at the pillows, at the sweat-damp linen beneath him, but there was nothing to ground him. Mydei was everywhere, on him, in him, inside his head, his voice a growled litany of filth and praise against the shell of his ear, dragging him closer to the edge whether he wanted it or not.
And then he snapped .
The orgasm hit him with startling force. His whole body arched, tensed, then shuddered as he came hard against the mattress, his cock untouched, twitching helplessly against his stomach as he spilled across the sheets in thick, hot ropes. His cry was sharp, loud, drawn from someplace deep, and Mydei’s name ripped from his throat like a curse, choked and wet and wrecked .
Mydei didn’t stop immediately. His hips ground in once, twice more, deep and slow, drawing out the aftershocks until Phainon writhed beneath him, thighs trembling with overstimulation. Then finally, he eased up, just enough to let Phainon breathe.
Phainon collapsed into the bedding, his body loose and twitching, eyes half-lidded, mouth open. He looked ruined , and gods, he was. His thighs were slick with sweat and come, his voice barely a whisper now, and his skin flushed from neck to knees in raw, trembling color.
Mydei bent low, his chest still heaving with exertion. He kissed the back of Phainon’s neck, soft, reverent, and then the curve of his shoulder, the space between his shoulder blades, his spine. Little murmurs fell from his lips between each kiss, low and rough-edged but warm all the same.
“You did so well,” he muttered, voice close to hoarse. “Took everything I gave you, every inch. Gods, you’re perfect like this.”
Phainon shivered beneath the praise, breath catching as he blinked blearily at the headboard. He barely had the strength to shift, but his fingers curled faintly into the pillow, some silent echo of pride or pleasure at the words.
Before he could settle, Mydei ground in again, slow and purposeful, and Phainon jolted violently, a strangled whine escaping from his throat. His body tensed, hips twitching away from the intrusion, but Mydei followed, burying in deep and groaning low into the skin of his shoulder.
“M-Mydei..” Phainon rasped, voice cracking, but there was no defiance left in it, only dazed confusion, nerves alight from the force of his climax, body too tender to process the fresh wave of heat now stretching him open all over again.
Mydei pressed a kiss to his temple before pulling out with a slick, lewd wet sound that made Phainon twitch and groan beneath him. His release still coated his cock, sticky and shining in the firelight as he sat back and ran a hand down Phainon’s trembling thigh.
“You really thought that was it?” he asked, voice low, playful, and wicked.
Phainon was too breathless to answer, just groaned and buried his face in the sheets. Mydei chuckled and gripped him by the hips again, flipping him over without care for the mess, the stickiness, the ache in his muscles. Phainon landed on his back with a breathless grunt, arms sprawled, hair a halo of sweat-damp white across the pillow.
And gods.
Mydei couldn’t stop looking at him.
He was utterly wrecked, thighs trembling, eyes wet, lips red and kiss-bruised, jaw slack. The slick between his legs gleamed in the light, and his chest still heaved with aftershocks, his cock softening slowly against his stomach, glistening with his own release.
“Just look at you,” Mydei murmured, one hand stroking up the side of Phainon’s throat, his thumb dragging lazily across his bottom lip. “You’ve made such a mess of my bed, Phainon. Barely finished coming, and you look like I’ve already broken you.”
Phainon coughed a breath of laughter, his voice hoarse and wry even through the haze. “That.. was just the opening act, then?”
Mydei leaned in, lips brushing his cheek.
“Oh no,” he whispered, positioning himself again between trembling thighs. “That was just the first warning .”
Phainon looked every inch undone, limbs lax, breath shallow, his body marked with evidence of what Mydei had done to him. The flush across his chest had deepened to something near fevered, his lashes damp with tears he wouldn’t acknowledge, and his thighs trembled with every minute shift of muscle. He’d already come once, violently, his release sticky across his abdomen and drying in the hollow between his hips, but that did nothing to shield him now, nothing to ease the twitch in his overstimulated muscles as Mydei hovered above him again.
Still, even with every nerve lit raw and his lips slick with panting breath, Phainon managed to smirk.
“Remind me..” he rasped, voice wrecked and just barely audible, “Is this how Kremnos nobles prove their hospitality.. or just their stamina?”
Mydei blinked once, slowly, then let out a low, humorless laugh, cruel and sharp-edged like a blade sheathed in silk. His gaze raked over Phainon’s body, lingering on the flush of his cheeks, the tremble of his legs spread wide open for him, the red blooming in half-moons down his hips where fingernails had already pressed too hard. He looked delighted, darkly delighted, with the state he’d reduced him to.
“You just don’t know when to shut up ,” Mydei murmured, almost fondly.
And then he was pushing back in.
No warning, no mercy, just a sudden, thick pressure stretching Phainon open all over again, dragging a broken sound from his throat. His back arched immediately, legs kicking feebly as Mydei seated himself fully inside in one steady, unrelenting stroke. The slick was there, leftover from before, but the stretch still burned, sharper now in its contrast, a mix of pleasure and pain that made Phainon gasp and shiver beneath him.
“Oh, gods , wait - ” he choked, his fingers scrabbling at Mydei’s arms as if to push him back, though there was no strength behind it. “You can’t - I just - ”
“You just made a mess of my bed,” Mydei growled, hips already beginning to roll, slow and cruel, angling down to grind right into that tender spot that made Phainon’s thighs twitch violently. “And I haven’t even gotten started.”
Phainon cried out, high and raw, his body jerking under the pressure. But Mydei didn’t stop, he couldn’t . The heat of him, the tight clutch, the way Phainon’s walls spasmed helplessly around him, too sensitive to take it and yet not stopping him, not begging him to pull out - it was addictive . He set a rhythm that was punishing, hips slamming forward hard enough to shake the bed, each thrust striking with intention, dragging Phainon right back into that edge between unbearable and euphoric.
The noises were filthy. Wet, rhythmic, loud, skin slapping against skin, slick from sweat and come, the bed creaking beneath them with every hard shove forward. Phainon whimpered, cried out again, tried to form words, but each syllable was drowned in the slick sound of being filled again and again and again.
“You’re so fucking loud ,” Mydei growled, panting now, his hand bracing beside Phainon’s head as he fucked into him with unwavering force. “Such a mouth on you all the time - and now you can’t even form a sentence, huh?”
Phainon trembled beneath him, moaning into the sheets, hands fisted weakly in the fabric. His lips parted again, whether to curse or to plead, even he didn’t seem to know, but Mydei didn’t let him finish. One hand reached down, gripping hard beneath Phainon’s thigh and forcing it higher, tilting his hips up to take him deeper.
“Is this what you wanted?” Mydei snapped, voice hot and low against his cheek. “To be fucked until there’s nothing clever left to say? Until I can see my cock bulging through your gut every time I slam in?”
Phainon wailed , the sound torn from him against his will, raw and trembling and utterly destroyed. He writhed beneath the onslaught, overstimulated and breathless, and still Mydei moved, relentless, brutal, claiming every inch of him with bruising intensity.
“You wanted to act like a brat?” Mydei snarled, teeth gritted as his rhythm never faltered. “Then take it. Take every inch, deliverer.”
And Phainon did, helplessly, beautifully, with his throat too hoarse to talk back and his body too wrecked to do anything but obey.
Phainon was trembling under him now, his entire body tensing with every unrelenting thrust. His breath came in sharp gasps, his spine arched high off the mattress, and his skin gleamed with sweat. The overstimulation was written all over him, drawn in the stiff line of his throat, the glassy sheen in his half-lidded eyes, the bruised red of his parted lips as he struggled for air, for composure, for anything solid to grasp onto while Mydei refused to let up.
The bed rocked beneath them, the headboard creaking against stone, the lewd slap of skin-on-skin filling the chamber in cadence with the high, trembling moans spilling from Phainon’s lips. But even with his body crying out for reprieve, Phainon’s hands found Mydei’s chest, pressing flat, desperate.
“W-wait - wait,” he gasped, voice ragged. His palms pushed against Mydei’s sternum, not with strength, but with a trembling, instinctive attempt to distance himself, to gain something - control, space, breath. “It’s - it’s too - ”
Mydei caught both wrists in one swift motion, gripping them tight in a single hand and shoving them above Phainon’s head, pinning them to the mattress. His fingers wrapped around them like iron, unmoving, firm, and far too practiced.
“Is it?” Mydei asked, voice low and calm in cruel contrast to the brutal way he moved, each thrust driving in deeper, harder, angling just right to make Phainon cry out again, louder this time, back bowing despite himself. “Because you’re still clenching around me like you want more.”
He leaned in, mouth ghosting the corner of Phainon’s jaw, breath hot against damp skin. His free hand slid down between their sweat-slicked bodies, trailing along the curve of Phainon’s stomach, before wrapping around his cock, already hardening, spent, aching, and began to stroke.
Phainon cried out beneath him. It wasn’t sharp or theatrical; it was guttural, desperate, real , his whole body jolting under the dual onslaught of Mydei’s cock pounding into him and the sudden overstimulation of a touch too cruel in its precision. He twisted, tried to wrench away, but the grip on his wrists only tightened, pinning him more firmly.
“Please, slow down,” Phainon begged, voice breaking, his words dissolving into choked moans. “I-I can’t - ”
Mydei didn’t stop. He kissed the hollow of Phainon’s throat, the slope of his cheek, and whispered low against the shell of his ear.
“You know the word,” he said, and there was no malice in it, just certainty. Unshakeable, absolute. “You say it, I stop. But until then - ” His hips snapped forward, harsh, unforgiving, “ - you’re mine to ruin .”
Phainon’s response was a sob, beautiful, wrecked, and yet he didn’t speak the word.
Didn’t stop him.
His fingers curled helplessly in Mydei’s grip, his eyes screwed shut as the rhythm intensified, Mydei slamming into him with a pace that bordered on savage. The sound of it was overwhelming, wet and fast and obscene , every thrust pushing Phainon further into the mattress, every stroke of his cock drawing frantic gasps and tremors through his overstimulated body.
“Look at you,” Mydei gritted out between thrusts, cock twitching inside him. “You’re already spent. You came hard enough to leave a mess on the bed, and now you’re sobbing because I won’t stop.”
His hand around Phainon’s cock didn’t slow, even as it twitched and spasmed, too sensitive, leaking with each relentless stroke.
“You like this,” he hissed, voice feral now. “Your body’s begging me to stop, and yet you still haven’t said it. Still letting me push you further.”
Phainon gasped, tears beading in the corners of his eyes, his head thrashing weakly as another moan slipped from his lips, wrecked and uneven.
And Mydei - he couldn’t possibly stop now. Not with the way Phainon felt beneath him, inside, how he trembled and fought and still took it . Not with how beautiful he looked destroyed; wrists bound, body arched, mouth slack from overstimulation, too far gone to be bratty now, too wrung out to lie.
Mydei leaned down, lips against his cheek, his voice a dark, honeyed threat.
“You’ll come again,” he whispered. “You’ll fall apart for me. And you’ll thank me for it.”
It was too much, far too much.
Every inch of Phainon's body trembled, locked in a state of raw, fraying sensation. Mydei’s cock dragged in and out of him with unrelenting rhythm, each thrust forcing another strangled gasp from his lips. And still, Mydei’s hand moved on him, stroking his oversensitive cock with slow, merciless precision, as though he could coax more from him even when there was nothing left to give.
Phainon’s mouth opened in a silent gasp, his chest heaving, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes before he even realized they’d formed. His muscles seized and twitched, his voice reduced to little more than gasps, wet, pleading, ruined , each breath a battle, each moan more fragile than the last.
And then, it hit .
The second climax wracked through him like lightning, violent, unbidden, and blinding . It wasn’t pleasure, not entirely. It was too sharp, too raw. A sensation so overwhelming it bordered on agony, pleasure twisted into something devastating as his cock twitched and pulsed in Mydei’s palm, spilling across his own stomach in thick, trembling spurts. His legs gave out completely, his hips bucking uselessly as he sobbed beneath the weight of it, his entire body shuddering uncontrollably.
“Mydei - ” he sobbed, voice ragged and raw, his throat catching on the word. “Mydei - thank you - thank you, I - ”
His words broke apart into hiccuping gasps, his face flushed red, streaked with tears. His hands gripped Mydei’s forearm where it still pinned his wrists above his head, holding on like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.
And that did slow Mydei.
Not to a halt, he didn’t pull out, but his punishing rhythm softened, eased. His hips pressed in shallowly now, grinding rather than thrusting, keeping himself buried in Phainon’s quivering body as he leaned in, breath fanning across his flushed skin.
“Shh,” Mydei whispered, voice rough but steady, his hand releasing Phainon’s wrists to cup his face instead. “You did so well.”
He kissed the tear-tracked skin of his cheek, then the corner of his eye, catching the heat of his tears against his lips. Another kiss to his temple, then his jaw. His hand stroked gently now down Phainon’s side, grounding him as he trembled, his chest still rising and falling in erratic, exhausted waves.
“So fucking good for me,” Mydei murmured between kisses. “Took it all - everything I gave you. Cried for it, and came again just from my hand.”
Phainon whimpered at the praise, another broken sound that was half-sob, half-gasp. His body convulsed faintly beneath him, his inner muscles fluttering in overstimulated spasms around Mydei’s cock, still hard and seated deep.
He felt full to the point of delirium, stretched and pulsing with aftershocks, yet Mydei’s touch, now slow, reverent, kept him from spiraling entirely.
Mydei dragged his knuckles lightly over Phainon’s flushed cheek. “Breathe,” he whispered. “You’re alright. You’re perfect.”
The heat remained, thick and intimate where they were still connected, the slick evidence of their bodies mixing between their thighs. Phainon blinked up at him, dazed and wet-eyed, and Mydei smiled, small, crooked, and dark with affection.
“Just let me hold you like this,” he said softly, voice no longer mocking but warm, coaxing. “You’ve earned it.”
There was a moment, strange and suspended, where Phainon existed only in sensation. In heat. In the ache between his thighs and the way his lungs still fluttered like a dying flame, catching on every ragged inhale. His head lolled slightly, limbs heavy and boneless, caught somewhere between unconsciousness and waking. He wasn’t quite sure when he had stopped crying or when the aftershocks had faded from unbearable into dull tremors echoing in his lower back. Everything blurred at the edges.
But warmth was there. Mydei was there.
When Phainon stirred again, blinking against the heat pressed against his face, he realised they had shifted. He hadn’t felt it, his mind had been too wrung out to register movement, but Mydei had moved them, effortlessly, without waking him fully. The mattress was no longer beneath him. He was in Mydei’s lap now, held securely, legs spread lazily across strong thighs, his spine resting against the firm wall of Mydei’s chest.
Arms were wrapped tightly around his waist, one across his middle, the other splayed possessively across his sternum, and the weight of Mydei’s body behind him felt like a tether, grounding, inescapable.
He was still inside him.
The stretch was different now, deeper in this position, slower. Mydei’s hips rolled up with a steady rhythm, slow but insistent, grinding in small, deep motions that made Phainon gasp softly against the crook of his neck. His thighs twitched, but there was nowhere to go, no leverage, no energy to fight it. He was pinned perfectly, kept there by nothing but Mydei’s arms and the slow, merciless rhythm of being filled again and again.
“Mydei..” he whispered, voice thin and cracked with wear. His arms slung weakly around Mydei’s neck, his fingers curling against sweat-damp skin, and his face tucked into the heat of his shoulder as his breathing came shallow, uneven. “You’re still..”
“I know,” Mydei murmured into his ear, his voice low, reverent, wrapped in the kind of calm that only came from complete possession. “Just stay like this a little longer.”
His breath was hot and steady against the shell of Phainon’s ear. Every time his hips rolled upward, he grunted softly; deep in his chest, a low rumble that vibrated through their skin. One hand slid up, slow and languid, splaying across Phainon’s chest to feel his heartbeat pounding through the fragile skin beneath his palm. The other held him firm by the waist, fingers digging just enough to make Phainon exhale a soft, unfiltered whimper.
“You’re so warm like this,” Mydei said quietly, his lips brushing the shell of Phainon’s ear as he spoke. “So soft now. Quiet for once.”
Phainon gave a half-laugh, a tired sound that died into a moan as Mydei shifted again, grinding upward with a little more pressure, a little more purpose.
“You always act like you’ve got teeth,” he continued, his tone almost gentle. “Always looking at me like you’ve already figured me out. And yet here you are. Boneless. shaking. Letting me fuck you through your second orgasm while you cling to me like you’ll fall apart without my hands on you.”
Phainon groaned, not quite able to form a reply. His thighs clenched faintly around Mydei’s hips, his toes curling, breath catching as the angle made him twitch violently around the cock still moving inside him. He was overstretched, oversensitive, but the warmth that bloomed beneath his skin now was different, slower, fuzzier. Not sharp, nor unbearable, not anymore.
Mydei kissed the side of his throat, slow and open-mouthed.
“You’re doing so well for me,” he whispered. “Let me have this.”
And Phainon did.
He let himself go heavy against the man who held him, let his arms stay draped lazily around broad shoulders as Mydei kept rocking into him, slow, deep, grinding strokes that made wet sounds echo faintly in the quiet room. He buried his face in Mydei’s neck again, breathing him in, body swaying with every thrust, every movement.
And though every nerve still sparked with the remnants of overstimulation, though his thighs trembled and his voice was gone, he held on.
By now, it was unbearable how deep he was. Each slow, grinding thrust pressed into untouched places, deeper than Phainon thought possible, deeper than he’d ever allowed anyone else to reach. In this position, with his legs slack around Mydei’s waist and his spine bowed back against the steady wall of muscle and armor-warmed skin, every rock of Mydei’s hips carved a sound from his throat, quiet, wrecked things, half-swallowed against the curve of Mydei’s neck.
The room was thick with heat, the air damp and heavy with sweat and breath and the heady, slick sounds of obscene intimacy. Their bodies stuck to each other, the drag of skin audible with every subtle shift. The wet suck of Mydei’s cock pushing in and pulling out of him echoed faintly in the vaulted ceiling, more intimate than any scream; filthier , somehow, for how quietly it rang.
Mydei was losing composure. His breathing had deepened, drawn from somewhere lower, the sound of it now ragged against Phainon’s cheek. There was less rhythm to the way he moved now, more hunger, more desperation, and each grind pressed harder into the soft, bruised place inside of Phainon that made his toes curl and his head tip back uselessly.
“Listen to that,” Mydei murmured, voice dark, frayed at the edges with restraint. He punctuated the words with a slow, grinding thrust that made Phainon cry out and twitch helplessly. “So fucking wet for me. You’re sucking me in like you were made for this.”
Phainon shuddered, breath catching in his throat as his fingers fumbled along the back of Mydei’s neck. He wasn’t strong enough to hold on properly anymore, but his arms stayed there, limp and looped across his shoulders, fingers curling occasionally when a thrust hit too deep. His lips brushed against Mydei’s jaw, clumsy and uncoordinated, trying for a kiss he couldn’t quite land. His mouth was parted, panting into skin, smearing spit along the edge of Mydei’s cheek.
And Mydei felt it, the way Phainon kept leaning into him, mindless now, overstimulated and dizzy, still trying to kiss him like it was the only way to anchor himself.
“You’re mine,” Mydei growled, his voice more ragged now. “Mine to ruin, mine to keep. You know I’m gonna fill you up, don’t you?”
Phainon moaned, a sound so soft, so utterly surrendered, it barely escaped the back of his throat. His walls clenched involuntarily around Mydei’s cock at the words, dragging a guttural groan from the man behind him.
“You’ll take it,” Mydei hissed. “Every last drop. I’ll fill you so full they’ll smell me on you for days.”
Phainon’s lips found Mydei’s jaw again, wet and open-mouthed, kissing blindly, lazily, as his body rocked with each grind from below. He couldn’t speak, not coherently, but the way he kept fluttering around him, clenching and twitching and holding him so tight, said enough.
Mydei pressed his palm flat over Phainon’s lower belly again, right above where they joined, feeling himself, feeling the way he pushed so deep he could almost see it, the taut stretch of skin moving with each roll of his hips. He swore under his breath, kissed Phainon’s temple, then dragged his teeth lightly along the shell of his ear.
“I should never have let you leave my bed in the first place,” he said. “You belong right here. Ruined, wet, and full of my cock.”
And he meant it.
It wasn’t just need, not anymore, it was obsession, carved into the slow rock of his hips and the bruises blooming beneath his fingers. The sight of Phainon, head lolling, mouth open, flushed and trembling and pliant in his lap, had branded itself into him. There would be no going back from this. No pretending it was just another night, just another exchange of want.
He grunted as his hips rolled deeper again, the angle so tight it made Phainon sob, voice caught between overstimulation and pleasure. Mydei kissed him again, slower this time, rougher, claiming, as he kept pushing deeper, his desperation bleeding through the seams of his restraint.
He was close. Phainon could feel it in the shift of his rhythm, that mounting tension gathering behind every slow, grinding thrust. The smooth precision he had maintained had begun to falter, cracking open at the edges into something raw and instinctive. The way he moved was less controlled now, hips rocking upward with a deliberate urgency, each push impossibly deep, angled to fill every inch of space inside of Phainon until there was nothing left untouched.
The moment Mydei came, it was with a sound torn from somewhere deep in his chest, a low, guttural growl that spilled past clenched teeth as he drove himself in to the hilt. His hips stilled, pressed so tightly against Phainon’s ass that the tension alone made his thighs shake. He held him there, locked down with both arms around his waist, and released in hot, pulsing waves.
Phainon felt every twitch, every surge of warmth that rushed deep inside him, filling him faster than his body could take. The heat bloomed violently, and then, inevitably, it began to spill. A slow, thick trickle that eased out around the base of Mydei’s cock, dribbling onto already-slick thighs. The sensation made him flinch, legs trembling from where they still straddled Mydei’s lap. He gasped, a raw, unguarded sound that echoed with overstimulation, fingers curling uselessly in the sheets beneath them.
And Mydei, still buried deep, still throbbing inside, held him tighter, as if to keep every drop in.
“That’s it,” he murmured against Phainon’s cheek, voice rough but low, reverent. “You took it so well. Every bit of it.”
Phainon trembled, not from cold but from the sheer fullness of it, how thoroughly he had been used, filled, and kept. He could still feel the hot weight of it inside him, slowly leaking out in lazy, wet drips, and the humiliation of that alone made his breath hitch.
But then Mydei’s mouth pressed against his skin again.
A kiss to his temple. Then his hairline. The slope of his brow.
Each one was slow, unhurried. He didn’t speak, not for a moment, just kept pressing his lips to Phainon’s damp skin, grounding him. Worshipful. Like the soft touch could balance out the roughness they’d just shared.
His grip shifted, loosening from the possessive cage around his waist to a more tender hold, one hand sliding up to cradle Phainon’s chest, the other smoothing over the curve of his belly with practiced ease. He adjusted him without effort, easing their bodies together until Phainon was fully against his chest, his back flush to the warm strength of Mydei’s torso.
“You’re perfect like this,” he said softly, his breath grazing the side of Phainon’s face. “Fucked full and still clenching around me. Do you feel it, still?”
Phainon couldn’t answer. His lips were parted, breath shallow, his stomach fluttering beneath Mydei’s hand with the smallest, involuntary twitch.
The silence between them lingered in the warmth of their bodies, in the way their chests rose and fell in a gradually synchronized rhythm. Mydei’s grip had softened, his hands slow and unhurried now, drawing idle patterns across the flushed skin of his cum-streaked stomach.
Eventually, Phainon stirred, a slow, deliberate shift of his hips, not to pull away but to remind Mydei he was still there, aching, tender, and leaking. He pressed a lazy kiss against Mydei’s jaw, then nudged his nose upward as if to get his attention. One hand lifted, weak but intentional, tapping lightly at Mydei’s wrist. It wasn’t rejection, only the suggestion of movement. A motion toward the washroom, toward cleaning up.
Mydei grumbled against him, and his hand slipped lower again, fingers tightening along the dip of Phainon’s waist. Possessive, finality without words, and then, without warning, he rolled his hips.
The thrust was slow, but forceful, dragging the thick weight of himself through the overstretched slick of Phainon’s body, still hot and full and sensitive. The motion pulled a sharp, involuntary sound from Phainon’s throat, and his body jolted in Mydei’s lap, thighs trembling as the pressure returned all at once.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Mydei said, his voice low, almost calm, but edged with something firm, absolute. “We’re fine like this.”
Phainon gasped, shivering at the sheer depth of the movement, how it forced him to feel just how much was still inside him, how much hadn’t stopped leaking out. Mydei gave another small roll of his hips, slower this time, deliberate, like he was proving a point. Phainon clenched around him again, his breath catching audibly.
“We’d only make more of a mess trying to move,” Mydei continued, his lips brushing Phainon’s damp cheek. “You’re warm. Soft. Full. I’m not pulling out just to watch it spill everywhere.”
His hands swept up again, tracing the outline of Phainon’s sides as though he were committing the curve of his waist to memory. Then they dipped lower, palming his hips and holding him firm, seat kept snug to the base, not a single inch spared.
“You feel too good,” Mydei whispered, more to himself now. “Let me have you a while longer.”
Later, long after the ache had softened into a steady thrum beneath the skin, they lay entangled in the hush that only came once desire had burned itself down to embers. Mydei’s breath had steadied, warm against the back of Phainon’s neck, one hand still resting over his stomach like a vow not to let him go, not yet. Their legs were tangled, the room still thick with heat and the musk of sex, but neither moved to break the stillness.
Phainon’s fingers moved slowly down his spine, idly, as though mapping constellations no one else could touch. When they paused, right at the shallow dip of his lower back, over the tenth thoracic vertebra, Mydei exhaled like the touch belonged there - trusted there. It was the kind of surrender that never needed to be spoken aloud, the kind born of a thousand lifetimes.
They basked in each other’s presence, or perhaps endured it. As though the weight of everything unsaid was allowed to hang in the air, unspoken but shared. A moment carved out of time, suspended just before the spiral began again.
And tomorrow, when the cycle came to an inevitable end, it would be Phainon’s hand, gentle now, merciless then, that would press into that sacred hollow and end him.
Just as he had done 33,550,334 times before.