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Phainon pushes Mydei’s naked body against the cool glass of the mirror, curving over him from behind, and Mydei, panting, arches his back to grind his ass against the hard line of Phainon’s cock. Pleasure burns through him, his own cock hard and aching, dripping precum. All day, Phainon has been in a strange mood, a possessive mood, and Mydei can’t quite figure out why, but he doesn’t particularly care, not right now. Not when Phainon’s mouth is on the back of his neck and his cock is between his legs, fucking against his thighs.
Hungry hands pull down Mydei’s sides, Phainon’s calloused fingers stroking over the ladder of his ribs until they curve around his hips. Phainon yanks Mydei’s hips backward, into the curve of his own, forcing Mydei’s back to arch, and he groans, dropping his head against the glass. The position feels absurd, and absurdly vulnerable—embarrassing, almost, to know his body is on display.
“Your body,” Phainon groans, grinding harder between Mydei’s legs. He whines in the back of his throat, thin and needy, and rubs one hand up the length of Mydei’s spine. “Fuck, your body, Mydei.”
The truth, though, is that nothing is too embarrassing with Phainon. Whenever Mydei begins to feel even an ounce of self-consciousness, there’s Phainon, giving him the kind of praise he never thought he’d get from someone else—least of all Phainon himself. In public, they’re almost always bickering, and Mydei would be a liar if he said he didn’t get off on their verbal sparring as much as their physical sparring, but when they’re alone, Phainon is effusive with his praises, lavishing Mydei with compliments.
“Look at you,” Phainon says, and then his hand is in Mydei’s hair, fisting in the length of it, pulling Mydei’s head up and back so that he’s staring himself down in the mirror. “Look at how perfect you are.”
Mydei is certainly proud of his body, of how he’s cultivated it into a weapon, but Phainon appreciates it for entirely different reasons. “Why do you have to talk so much?” he asks.
Laughing against the back of his neck, Phainon releases his hip and reaches for the oil on the nearby table. “Mydei, Mydei,” he says. “If you want me to shut up and fuck you, that’s all you need to say.”
They both know he won’t, because he likes this, too. Likes bringing their sniping into their intimacies, likes riling Phainon up until he responds by dragging orgasm after orgasm out of Mydei’s body. “You couldn’t stop talking if you were gagged,” Mydei replies, gasping as the head of Phainon’s cock drags against his hole instead of between his thighs, as Phainon shifts against his back to bring oil-slick fingers to his hole.
“There’s a thought.” Phainon releases Mydei’s hair. He strokes his hand over Mydei’s jaw and pushes two fingers past already parted lips, and Mydei moans as they fill his mouth. “Maybe I should gag you.”
Mydei’s cock twitches. Pleasure burns in his stomach. He groans around the fingers in his mouth and arches to push into the ones against his hole, adoring the idea but unwilling—and unable—to say as much.
One finger pushes into his ass as the two in his mouth press down on his tongue. Mydei shudders, trapped between Phainon’s hands, unable to look away from the sight of himself in the mirror. Glazed eyes, flushed cheeks, Phainon’s fingers pushing deep between lips swollen from previous kisses. Red marks bruise his shoulders; they’ll fade within a few hours, but for now they’re proof of Phainon’s affections, and they make Mydei look debauched. Wicked. Like a common harlot.
He groans, his eyes fluttering shut.
“Look,” Phainon demands, pushing his finger deep and rubbing the tip of it over Mydei’s prostate with unerring accuracy.
Mydei’s hips jerk. More precum drips from his cock onto the floor, and he can’t help the whining sound that catches in his throat. He swallows hard around the fingers in his mouth, wrapping his lips around them to suckle them as his eyes open once more, as he stares at his reflection. And there’s Phainon, curved around him from behind, eyes bright and intense at the same time, meeting Mydei’s gaze through the mirror.
“I want you to watch when I make you come,” Phainon says, curving his lips into a wicked smile against Mydei’s ear.
Shuddering, Mydei fights the desire to close his eyes once more, to sink in the blissful oblivion of feeling without seeing. Seeing is so much more, borders on the overwhelming. He can’t see when a second finger pushes into him, but he can watch the tremble and jump of his hips, the way his cock twitches and bobs. He can watch the flush of color spread from his cheeks to his throat, darkening the red of his tattoos.
He suckles harder at the fingers in his mouth, wishing they were Phainon’s cock heavy on his tongue but content, as always, to have what Phainon gives him. And Phainon gives him so much, those wicked fingers of his playing over Mydei’s prostate as they stretch him open.
More pleasure carves through him, winding tighter in his gut. The man in the mirror is Mydei, yes, but he’s somehow divorced from his perception of himself as he starts fucking himself onto the fingers inside him. He watches the roll of his own hips while thinking he looks like some kind of pornography actor reduced to wanton desire. He feels like that, like Phainon has stripped him down to his basest, most hedonistic needs.
With every stroke of Phainon’s fingers, Mydei stumbles closer and closer to the edge of his own desires. He burns, a conflagration that threatens to consume him, but he wants to be consumed, to be devoured by that desire—by Phainon. Some part of him thinks he’s too far gone, that Phainon should have to work harder to get him off, that it should take more than a pair of fingers in his mouth and another pair in his ass, but Phainon has learned him so well. And, too, watching himself, the rolling of his hips, the way saliva drips from his lips, it’s all just too much.
When he comes, it’s with a muffled groan, with the jerking of his hips as cum drips from his cock and onto the floor. Some splatters on the mirror, but not nearly enough to obstruct the view, and it’s so wickedly obscene to watch himself come apart. Maybe it should be narcissistic, but it isn’t, it’s just one more hedonistic sensory input that drives him to burn hotter for the man at his back.
And Phainon doesn’t let him come down from the high, either. He takes his fingers from Mydei’s mouth, wiping them on his cheek—and Mydei’s spent cock twitches—only to take him in hand. Mydei gasps, bracing his hands on the mirror and trying to shove away, but Phainon won’t be moved, won’t give ground. He strokes skin that’s far too sensitive, rubbing the dripping tip of Mydei’s cock as his fingers stretch Mydei wide and play over his prostate still.
“Look,” he croons, though Mydei is looking, though Mydei can’t tear his gaze away from the sight of Phainon’s hand around him.
A whine catches in Mydei’s throat. He rolls his hips backwards, pulling his cock through Phainon’s loose grasp and impaling himself even more on the fingers inside him, and then thrusts forward almost against his own will. The need to seek out more sensation drives him even though that sensation is so sharp it almost hurts. It’s a good hurt, a sensual hurt, a hurt that makes him crave even more.
“Look,” Phainon says again as he removes his fingers, replacing them with his cock. He releases Mydei’s cock, and Mydei chokes on a disappointed gasp, but then Phainon’s lifting his leg by the thigh, is holding it up so Mydei can watch as Phainon pushes into him, stretches him, fills him. Sight and sensation tangle together, and Mydei can’t look away, can’t stop staring at Phainon’s cock as it disappears inside his body. “So tight,” Phainon groans, pressing his face into Mydei’s shoulder.
If he were somewhat sober, he might snap something at Phainon. Might say, “Oh, so I have to look, but you’re excused?” But he’s not sober, he’s drunk on his pleasures, on the stretching burn of Phainon inside him, and he’s too breathless to waste his words.
He claws at the mirror as Phainon fucks into him, cock pounding into his hole. His own cock is half hard again, is growing harder, and the friction of it cuts through him like some kind of divine agony. Every time Phainon thrusts deep, he thinks he can feel the pressure of the intrusion in his fucking throat, and he could swear there’s a bulge in his belly where Phainon’s cock pushes into him.
Titans, it’s a glorious thing to watch, Phainon taking him so relentlessly, fucking into him like a man possessed, and the feeling of it is glorious, pulling him apart with every thrust. Looking at them, at where Phainon pushes into him, is too much, but he can’t tear his eyes away. They’re fixed on his body, on Phainon’s every slick thrust glancing against his prostate propelling closer and closer to another orgasm. With one leg off the ground, he’s not sure he’ll survive it. He’s strong, but not in the face of the overwhelming pleasure Phainon gives him.
Teeth sink into the meat of his shoulder, and Mydei gasps. His forehead hits the glass, but at such an angle that he can still watch, and it’s exquisite and divine and he can’t hold on, not anymore. He comes without being fully hard, dripping down his length as he shudders and groans, as pleasure cleaves through him. He shakes, too, his one leg weakening. Phainon has the sense to drop his thigh, offering him balance, but he doesn’t stop fucking him, doesn’t stop driving hard and deep into him. With his leg back on the ground, Mydei can’t see Phainon’s cock sliding into him anymore, but he doesn’t need to. Sweet friction, agonizing ecstasy, his body still spasming with residual pleasure as Phainon’s own motions go ragged.
He comes, too, grabbing Mydei’s hips and yanking him down. Cum spills into him, so much that it slips out and drips down his thighs, and Mydei, groaning, finally closes his eyes as he sags fully against the mirror.
Phainon’s teeth pull out of his shoulder, and he laps at the wound almost apologetically.
“What brought that on?” Mydei asks, lifting a hand to sink his fingers into Phainon’s hair, rifling through the soft strands.
Phainon makes a quiet sound. “What makes you think something made me want to fuck you?”
“Phainon,” Mydei says, flat and unamused, because they both know the truth. “You do this—with the mirror—when you want to make a point.”
Strong arms wrap around Mydei’s body as Phainon eases out of him, as he stands them both upright, his face pressed to the back of Mydei’s next. “You laughed.”
“Well that’s because you’re always doing stupid things,” Mydei says dryly.
“No.” Phainon draws out the word, nuzzling against Mydei’s spine. “At someone else. In the agora.”
Mydei stares at Phainon’s head in the mirror and can’t help but laugh now, too. “You’re jealous. You’re jealous of some nameless man.”
Phainon moues, peering over Mydei’s shoulder.
Rolling his eyes, Mydei shoves Phainon off him. “Pathetic, Deliverer. I’m going to take a bath.”
And rather than being deterred, Phainon perks up, grinning. “I’ll come with you,” he says, and it was, after all, an invitation, even if he really is the most pathetic, jealous, wet dog of a man Mydei has ever met.