#𝐗𝐕 — V. MAIN.

[coivi]

Cyrus had never considered himself a particularly spiritual man, but when a damn ghost started speaking to him—one that had actively tried and failed to possess him, probably due to the demonic entity already being housed within—he figured he had two options: lose his mind, or roll with it. He chose the latter. It wasn't every day you met a spectre who was as persistent as Cloud, after all. At first, their conversations had been laced with curiosity, Cloud poking and prodding at the strange fact that he couldn't control him. Cyrus, ever the immovable force, had taken it in stride, entertained by the entity that seemed just as fascinated by him. But somehow, the back-and-forth, the talking, the undeniable tension had led to this.

Now, with Cloud straddling his lap, Cyrus found himself in a predicament he hadn't quite anticipated. The ghost—his ghost, at this point—was trying to take him in, fingers digging into his broad shoulders as he worked himself down onto something that Cyrus wasn't entirely sure he could handle. Not that he doubted his own ability—he was more concerned about Cloud. Cyrus was a big man, in every sense of the word, too big in some circles. And despite the fact that Cloud had no true physical body of his own, he was still occupying one. And that body was trembling, struggling to take him in inch by inch, all while Cloud let out the most sinfully broken moans, pleas and curses. Alas, he couldn't fathom the true beauty here. The vessel the spectre decided to house was by far one of the most beautiful men he had seen. The watery glint in their eyes from the strain, the visible pre-cum seeping from the tip of Cloud's cock, the muscles of his body that inevitably flexed; all of it had the warlock throbbing, his mast a hardened piece of fat meat, pre-cum flowing steadily from the slit, coating into the man's constricting walls.

Cyrus exhaled, a slow, measured breath as his large hands rested on the ghost's hips, holding him steady. "You sure about this?" His voice was lower than usual, rough with restraint. He wasn't trying to stop him—not exactly—but the sheer size difference between them was making him hesitate. It wasn't like he could just ghost through the ghost if things went south. He didn't want to hurt him, the vessel. He could feel the way Cloud's body shook, trembled against him, could see the strain in his pretty, otherworldly face as he tried to take more.

His grip tightened, not to pull him down but to keep him from sinking too fast. "Breathe," Cyrus rumbled, his thumbs rubbing slow, steady circles against the smooth skin, a hand coming to the front to rest against Cloud's navel, ignoring the rigid length between their bodies, his palm laid flat, offering it warmth and control, to create a sense of sweet tenderness and unionship between the two of them. "You don’t have to force it." His patience was endless, but the sight of Cloud trying so damn hard to take him—his flushed expression, the way he whimpered and gasped, the way his body clenched as he fought to accommodate Cyrus' pillar of cock-meat—was making it difficult to keep his composure. Still, he wasn't about to let his own need overtake the fact that Cloud wasn't built like him. He was smaller, and Cyrus had enough self-awareness to know what he was capable of doing if he wasn't careful.

"Fuck…" His voice was rougher now, the strain bleeding into his words as he leaned in, resting his forehead against Cloud's shoulder for just a moment. And after that short interval, the hand at the man's hips tightened, aiding in lifting him off his length entirely, which collapsed with a wet snap against his thigh. "Wait a second..." With relative ease, he moved the man to sit beside him, while Cyrus himself rose to his feet, still wearing his hooded sweatshirt, his jogging bottoms and underwear bunched down to his ankles, forcing him to shuffle across the room due to lack of movement, the causing his cock to bob and spring, the thickness of his buttocks to jiggle from every short step that he took towards his desk. His fingers rummaged through the drawers, gripping hold a tube of KY jelly and returning, a toothy grin appearing on his face when he waddled back. Cyrus resumed his seat on the armchair sofa, squeezed a generous dollop of the contents to his palm, and slicking it across the entirety of his monstrous heft. Even if Cloud was unable to tame it, at the very least, it would create a nice, easy glide. The tube was thrown to the small side-table. While his hand stroked his aching length from root to tip, his free arm curled beneath the spectre once again, lifting him back onto his lap, where he now would belong for the remainder of the night. Now, in the heat of things, he allowed himself to look at the figure, the scruff of his face, the athletic build, ripe nipples that urged to be suckled. In the midst of the wet strokes filling the room, he asked wearily, "Can I kiss you?" He wanted this—wanted him—Cyrus wasn't going to break this... stranger, just to get what he wanted. He could be patient. He had to be.

CONTINUED FROM HERE

[capiovis]

Caius' shoulders had slackened and relaxed once the deal had been struck; it meant he wouldn't have to worry too much about paying his rent and utility bills, or having to dress layers upon layers of clothing just to keep warm during the colder months of the year. With his job solely being a person to move the product of choice, in his case, marijuana, he soon came to realise Joseph as being a man of his word, someone he could trust. No doubt his good-looks, charming smile and hefty bulge that Joseph naturally seemed to sport had something to do with Caius being quick to agree to his terms. It didn't seem like much, but a full grand a week in his pocket was more than he could scrounge up in a month. It was natural for him to feel somewhat close to the man, who was twice his size, imposing and dominant, but Caius saw how gentle of a giant he was, despite the circumstances.

In the subway, Caius sat back on his seat, hoodie pulled over his head, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket that was dressed on top of his sweatshirt. Often and casually, he would glance across to Joseph's groin, his mind wondering if the volume was all balls or cock. Just before he could ponder on the thought, he fell witness to the man pushing his jeans down past his hips at the front, just enough to fish out that thick slab of meat. "Jesus, fuck." Caius was more than impressed, and quite horrified. He didn't need any instruction or guidance as he dropped down to one knee, hand seizing him at the base to angle it upwards in the direction of his hungry mouth. His lips spread, his breath hot, his tongue lashing out across that cockhead in a circular motion, coating it in a generous coating of hot spit. Caius could tell the man was still soft, not yet at its fullest potential. He paid no mind to his surroundings, knowing his new boss would keep an eye out for them both. Lips seal around him, securely and steadfast just as he begins to sink his head down, sliding that thickened, perfect rod into the back of his throat. Didn't even supply Joseph with a gag or a choke. His head returned until the only thing remaining on the surface of his tongue was the head. A kiss was laid, and he returned back down, gulping the shaft deeper, swallowing it until it filled and expanded his neck. Caius went on for several minutes until he began to struggle, gagging as the man's length began to expand in its girth and length. And yet, he fought to bury it as much as he could, while he could, until his nose was pressed into the pubic area and his cheek was pressed flush against those firm, large balls. So full and round. It had only been roughly five-to-ten minutes since he had begun, not once did he speak or pull free to look upon the man to note his expression. Until now.

He withdrew that full monstrosity with a loud, echoing POP of his lips. Before he could resume his seat, he proceeded to have that heavy tool bat away against his face. Only briefly, while his face dug in to his groin, inhaling that sweet musky aroma of both man and cock. "Hng, fuck." Caius whimpered out, his own shaft coming to life, twitching awake beneath boxer-briefs and jeans. After some time, he returned, tongue flat from base to tip, swallowing any remnants of pre-cum that had began to dribble down. He resumed his seat, wiping the corners of his mouth and licking his work out of his fingers. "I know you've probably heard this a million times, from the millions of bitches that drop down to their knees for a man of your status, but fuck, dude, your dick's fuckin' huge." Caius beamed at him, a tooth-bearing grin that clearly illustrated his glee. "Tastes fuckin' good." He realises his own loft apartment isn't too far from the next stop. As bad as he wanted to take the subway all the way to Joseph's home, which was probably 50x the size of his entire apartment, he didn't think he could provide his best work with the constant rattling and shaking of the carriage. "D'ya mind if I take you back to m'place? Could get there in less than five minutes at this stop comin' up." He wasn't even sure he could make it there, his arousal coming swiftly and voraciously. "C'mon, what d'ya say?" If this was under other circumstances, he would lure Joseph into some dark alley to milk him dry; but a somewhat soft twin bed or a sectional sofa was more comfortable.

CONTINUED FROM HERE

[exovsia]

TAG DROP.

[inalata]

TAG DROP.

[coivi]

Cyrus let the brief silence stretch between them, thick and charged, before stepping closer, his towering form eating up the space with an almost predatory ease. The artificial glow of the gas station lights painted his soot-streaked body in harsh contrasts, shadows pooling in the deep grooves of his muscles, the slick sheen of sweat and grime making every ridge of his sculpted torso stand out with obscene clarity. He was cut from stone, raw and powerful, yet standing there entirely bare, there was something almost teasing in the way he carried himself—like he knew exactly what kind of reaction he provoked and he reveled in it; as soon as he spotted the stranger eyeing him up, a smirk rose to his lips. His cock, heavy and unashamedly on display, swung slightly as he shifted his weight, his stance effortless, exuding the kind of confidence that made it impossible to look away. He was filth and glory all wrapped into one, like a god who had just walked through fire and had the nerve to smirk about it.

When he reached for the bills, he made sure to take his time, his fingers brushing against Zane’s a little longer than necessary, calloused skin dragging over smoother flesh, deliberate in the way he tested boundaries. His grip was firm, warm, and his piercing gaze flicked up beneath dark lashes, watching, measuring, waiting for even the slightest reaction. He knew the game, had played it countless times before—watching how people wavered between looking away in flustered panic or staring too long, caught somewhere between fascination and disbelief. Zane, to his credit, held steady, but Cyrus didn't miss the way his jaw tightened just slightly, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallowed breath. That was the thing about moments like this—people could act unfazed, could throw out quips and keep their arms crossed in feigned ease, but the body never lied.

Cyrus hummed, deep and thoughtful, his smirk curling slow and knowing as he rolled the bills between his fingers. "I wasn't too sure if you'd be the generous type," he murmured, his voice dipping into something richer, the rasp of it thick with suggestion. The back of his hand dragged absently down his stomach, his fingers catching in the dried sweat and soot clinging to his skin before resting low on his hip, dangerously close to where most men would have covered themselves in shame. But Cyrus had never been most men, and modesty had never been a concern—if anything, he carried his nudity like it was an afterthought, an extension of his power rather than a vulnerability. Plus, with the behemoth he was gifted with, there was no shame to be felt. He watched Zane's expression closely, enjoying the quiet tension that built between them. "But thank you, I appreciate it."

He finally turned, slow and purposeful, his broad back flexing as he strode toward the gas station door, each step carrying the same lazy, unhurried confidence. The curve of his spine, the hard lines of his shoulders tapering down into the sharp V of his waist, every inch of him was something carved for attention, demanding it without asking. He glanced back just once before stepping inside, his lips curling into something wicked, something that hinted at far more than just an explanation. "Stick around," he called over his shoulder, voice smooth as sin.

Cyrus stepped into the gas station, the cool blast of air conditioning rushing over his overheated skin, a stark contrast to the lingering heat of his battle and the thick grime clinging to him. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, washing his blackened form in sterile white, highlighting every scar and ridge of muscle still left bare. He walked along the aisles, utterly unbothered by the few late-night customers who had the misfortune of glancing up at the exact moment a nearly seven-foot-tall, battle-worn man strolled in stark naked, holding nothing but a tin box and a handful of crumpled bills. The cashier—a wide-eyed young man who looked like he'd never seen a naked warlock before—froze mid-sip of his energy drink, his face rapidly shifting between confusion and the kind of dawning horror that suggested this would be a story he'd be telling for the rest of his life. Cyrus, unfazed, simply tossed a wink in his direction before making his way toward the back of the store, his bare feet slapping down against the tile floor.

He found what he needed quickly, though needed was a generous term. The clothing selection wasn't exactly vast, but he plucked a pair of garishly bright, neon green Hawaiian shorts from a clearance rack, the obnoxious floral print a sharp contrast to the dark grime smeared across his body. They sat low—dangerously low—on his hips, the waistband barely clinging to the sharp cut of his pelvis, doing little to hide the deep grooves of muscle leading downward. The fabric was taut, but flimsy, and did almost nothing to tame the heavy outline of his cock beneath it, shifting with each step as he tested the fit. He grabbed the largest T-shirt they had—some faded old stock with an off-brand surf logo stretched across the chest—but even that was a size too small for him, the material barely covering the thick slabs of muscle across his torso. It draped over his broad shoulders well enough, but the hem was another story, stopping short just above his waistline, leaving his lower abs and the cut of his hips scandalously visible every time he moved. If anything, the makeshift outfit made him look even more indecent, like some wild, sun-soaked god of chaos who had just been tossed into civilization without a second thought.

Snagging a bottle of water from the fridge, he made his way back up to the register, dropping his items onto the counter with a lazy thud. The cashier still looked a little stunned, but managed to fumble through the transaction as Cyrus counted out the crumpled bills, tossing in a smooth, "Keep the change, kid," before twisting the cap off his water and downing half of it in one go. The cool liquid ran down his throat, some escaping past his lips, trickling down into his bearded jawline and following the sharp dips of muscle down his chest, mixing with the soot and sweat still clinging to his skin.

With that, he strode back outside, the warm evening air wrapping around him as he stepped into the neon glow of the parking lot once more. His gaze immediately found Zane, still leaning against his bike, still watching. Cyrus smirked as he ran a hand through his damp buzz-cut, water droplets flicking from his fingertips before he rolled his shoulders, letting the too-small shirt ride up even higher as he walked back over. "Well," he drawled, taking the last swig from his water before tossing the empty bottle into a nearby bin with an effortless flick of his wrist. "Not exactly a five-star wardrobe, but at least now I won't get hauled in for public indecency." His eyes darted downward, glimpsing the swell of his flaccid cock still visible in the bright shorts. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he came to a stop in front of Zane, standing tall, bare feet still planted firm against the gravel. He held out a hand, his grip strong, warm, commanding. "Cyrus," he introduced himself properly this time, voice low, edged with something both playful and unapologetically bold. "Figured I owed you a name before I keep takin’ your charity."

CONTINUED, @chasingwreckage.

[capiovis]

"Just looking at you makes my dick hard, baby," Caius' grin was beaming amidst the kiss. It took him a fair while to acknowledge what he had just called the man, but he hoped to move straight past it, claim it as a misstep in their blooming passion for each other. The more time he spent in those strong arms of the older man, feeling protected, nurtured and drenched in a sweet embrace and tender kisses, he began to wonder if this friendship between them would perhaps delve deeper. Clayton was already promising him with dates, dinner, and any other activity he wanted to partake in; truly, Caius felt well and deeply cared for. Even if this was all-talk, a way of buttering his subjects up and have them be completely and utterly insatiable for him, it did not matter to him. He knew a good deal when it fell into his lap, or rather, into his throat. I have a job, I have one of the most attractive man giving me attention, one that wants to fuck me and show me a good damn time; a man who actually wants to kiss me and not just use my lips to service that fat dick of his. I must have sucked him well enough for him to actually come visit me in my dingy-loft apartment. Take what you can get, don't expect anything in return. That was Caius' mantra. Despite it all; his worries and thoughts that began to bubble up, he melted into the man's embrace when arms seized him by his waist, luring him to get onto the tips of his toes in order to draw the man in closer until their bodies collided, Caius' hands seizing every and any opportunity to touch the man's sculpted body, over thick and dense muscle of his shoulders, corded muscle of biceps, that broad expanse of his chest. He had hoped that sooner or later, whether tonight or another day, he would actually be able to worship this man like he deserved. "No plans for the weekend. Got some errands to run tomorrow, but I don't think I'll be able to make it. I suspect that I won't be able to walk properly after tonight, so I'm all freed up." The promise of a spa, although promising and alluring, was something he never had the luxury of experiencing. And so, when he heard that reservations had already been made, there was a softness in his face as he looked upon Clayton's own, reminding himself of every curvature and line of his face, the shape of his lips, the groomed beard, those deep soulful eyes. Caius had to loosen the embrace just so his boss wouldn't fear how quickly his heart had begin to race for him, he could practically feel it pulsing on his neck. The locking and brushing of their lips eased his growing love for the man, it distracted him from his thoughts, for he solely focused on the taste and texture of the other's lips and tongue against his own. They moved in perfect synchronicity, supple lips puckering, pressing and brushing perfectly, tongues sweeping and coiling, no extraneous spit to ruin the ambience. Caius knew he was a damn good kisser, even if he lacked the experience of it since his hookups weren't usually this docile and intimate.

Now, settled across the L-shaped sofa, shirt removed, he laid out. He was not in the greatest of shapes, unlike Clayton, but he still had a natural, healthy look to him. Broad pectorals, bulging biceps, faint abdominals amongst a layer of fat. The most notable thing about him was how perky, fat and utterly delicious his backside was. When he felt fingers hooking into the waistband of his sweatpants, he lifted the lower half of his body by forcing his feet down on the couch to enable them to be removed with ease. Immediately, his member rolled out to lay across his hip. Again, totally neglected like earlier in the day. When the joint had been passed back to him, he took it between his thumb and index finger and took a deep drag of it. It would be helping the anxiety that was building up, or rather, the excitement as he watched the man tower above him, ridding himself of the rest of his clothes. "Sweet Christmas," he moaned out, dick visibly twitching as he watched the hulking man move to settle onto his knees. As he did so, Caius' legs seemed to move at their own accord as he took another hit and exhaled it slowly. Legs rose and spread out eagerly, fully submitting and acting out the role set before him, providing for the man a visual of that taut, quivering pucker. Smooth, petite, milky soft. The prettiest shade of light pink, crowded in by the thickset globes of his ass, the flesh pliant, soft and tender; the perfect pillowy fortress that guarded that delectable prize. "I hope that's a promise, not a threat." Caius exhaled out a wispy cloud of smoke through his nose, settling back down, an arm resting behind his head beneath the cushion, while the other held the nearly finished joint in his hand, which he also utilised to rub the growing ache of his erection, though he didn't pay it too much attention just yet.

i think i want you as much as you want me. even though clayton had a healthy ego and knew that people would be lucky to get a chance with him, it was nice to hear that this wasn't just about giving the man a job or paying him a higher sum of money. they both seemed to like each other. before, he didn't have any ground to stand on when making up the younger man's part of the conversation. now? now he had all of the confirmation that he needed. he barely stayed in monogamous relationships, but that wasn't because he didn't like them. he just never sought them out and no one tried to make a stable man out of him. so when his shirt was fully unbuttoned and he was able to show off more of himself, he smiled softly. “good, because i plan to turn you on as much as humanly possible. every second i can make your cock hard or your hole clench just thinking about me or listening to me is a second that i'm a winner.” he wrapped his arms around caius' waist. not only to support him, but also because he just liked being close to him. skin to skin. touching any way possible. “i don't just like you because you gave me the best blowjob of my life by the way.” that part was true. he liked that the man didn't stop when he wanted something. that determination was admirable and not something that everyone had. “so i think i'd like that. although i hope you know, if i'm going to be sleeping with you weekly i'm not going to just seek you out for sex. i'm going to take you out to shows, dinner, and everything else you can imagine when someone is being courted.” he returned the kiss slowly. something that almost seemed innocent if you didn't know what the two had gotten up to earlier and why they were here now. then, when he felt that delicious tongue sneak its way into his mouth, he couldn't hold back anymore. clayton started to suck on his tongue lightly, not putting too much force behind it. he moaned a little at the taste and the fact that the two of them seemed to be losing themselves in the deep kiss. his shaft throbbed, bulge growing even more, as he heard the moans come from the man's mouth. only one of the many reasons that he found him to be quite attractive. he didn't know how he was going to manage to pull himself away from him. he was starting to get so used to just kissing him. 

honestly, someone could have told him that kiss lasted ten minutes and he would have believed it. time moved different with caius. he liked it. “kissing's a two way street. only that good because i have such a good partner to do it with.” he winked at the man as more of his clothing was taken off. he watched careful at how it was placed in a neat pile on the chair. good to know that he was at least going to be taken care of while he was here. since he wasn't planning on leaving right after they finish their session together. “if you're sure. i can think of a couple of ways to fill you up anyway.” he smirked slightly after hearing the curse. clayton even gave him a little show, flexing his muscles when it came time for his biceps to be touched. he worked hard on his body, so when it came time to show it off he wasn't going to be the type to back away from it. “trust me, i'm going to use you up as i see fit, but i want to make sure that you can still enjoy yourself too. do you have any plans for the weekend? after i'm done with you, i was planning on taking you to a spa. i already made some reservations for sunday morning. that way your body can be fully relaxed for monday and you won't have to worry about anything.” once again, it was a part of him taking care of his partners when he actually did have them. “if you've seen the things i'd smoke, you'd know that this is more than alright with me. i have some back home too, so it's not like i'm against it.” to show his case a little more, he took the joint and took in a deep inhale before releasing the puff. then, he did it a second time, but a little different. that time, he breathed the smoke into caius' mouth while kissing him deeply. with the joint still in his mouth, he made sure to slowly remove the man's shirt. also putting it in the same pile as his. he wanted to make sure that he smelled like him by the end of this. then, clayton returned the joint to the rightful owner and stepped back. “you're not going to have to do anything else tonight.” he slowly took off his pants, making sure to stand in a place where caius could see a hint of cock, but also the curve of his ass. then, when all of his clothes were in a pile, he went back and got down on his knees in front of caius. he hooked his fingers onto the waistband of his sweatpants, slowly pulling them down. at the same time, clay would kiss along his thighs and legs. then, he repeated those motions until both of them were naked. he grabbed his new employee by his legs, slowly lifting them up. “smoke away baby, i'm going to eat you out like you've never been eaten out before.” 

[capiovis]

Rain pounded the pavement, each drop a staccato beat in the symphony of the city’s late-night chaos. The alley was a forgotten slice of urban decay, squeezed between two towering apartment blocks, where the neon glow from a nearby bar struggled to penetrate the darkness. The air was thick with the mingled scents of wet asphalt, oil, and the faint, acrid tang of cigarette smoke that clung to the damp walls.

Caius stood near the alley's end, leaning casually against the rough brick, the hood of his black jacket pulled low over his face. The fabric clung to him, dark and slick, absorbing the rain that poured down in relentless sheets. His breath misted in the cool night air, but the cold didn’t bother him. Magic pulsed beneath his skin, a constant hum that kept him warm and on edge, ready for anything.

He glanced down the alley, eyes narrowing against the torrential rain. The world beyond was a blur of headlights and distant sirens, a city that never slept and never cared. But here, in the shadows, Caius had carved out a space for himself—a place where deals were made in whispers and power exchanged hands as easily as cash. This was only the second time he had met with the PI, so his nerves were naturally high.

Ryker was late. Not by much, but enough to make Caius’s instincts twitch. The private investigator was usually on time, a rare quality Caius appreciated in his business partners. But the rain, the lateness, it all added an edge to the night that didn’t sit well with him. He tapped a finger against the inside pocket of his jacket, feeling the weight of the small, leather-bound notebook tucked there. Inside were names, dates, locations—a complete dossier on a gang that had been making moves in the city’s underworld. The kind of information that could shift the balance of power, that could make or break someone like Ryker.

Caius wasn’t in the habit of giving things away. Every piece of information he sold was meticulously gathered, carefully curated, and priced according to the risk involved. And this? This was high risk, high reward. Ryker needed it, and Caius needed the cash. Simple as that.

A flash of movement at the alley’s entrance drew his gaze. Ryker, finally. The man moved with the practiced ease of someone who’d seen too many dark places, he knew it was him purely by the tall, broadened physique of the man, easily thwarting Caius in size. He paused just outside the alley, scanning the shadows before stepping in.

Caius didn’t move, didn’t call out. He waited, letting Ryker come to him. The rain dripped from the brim of his hood, each drop falling in time with the distant thud of bass from a club somewhere down the street. The city was alive with its own pulse, but here in the alley, it was just Caius and Ryker, two figures shrouded in darkness, about to make a deal that could change everything.

Ryker stopped a few feet away, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets. “You got it?” Caius heard him say, his voice was rough, but steady.

Caius reached into his jacket, fingers brushing against the notebook. “You got the money?”

He saw Ryker nod. It was odd how safe he felt now, being so close to a man that was twice his size and had arms as large as his legs. It was perhaps one of the reasons as to why he agreed to give him this information, since naturally, it would put a bounty on his head if word got out he was feeding information to someone like Ryker.

Caius pulled out the notebook, holding it up just enough for Ryker to see. The rain continued to fall, a steady drumbeat that matched the rhythm of the city, as they prepared to exchange power and secrets, both men aware that in the darkness of the alley, trust was just another commodity to be bought and sold.

[coivi]

Cyrus exhaled a quiet huff of amusement at Tommy’s snicker, entirely unbothered by the reaction. If anything, it was refreshing—most people either gawked in horror or scrambled to cover their eyes, but Tommy simply laughed at the situation Cyrus had gotten himself into. That was a welcome change. He followed the younger man inside the workshop, his heavy, deliberate steps crunching the gravel beneath bare feet. The artificial lighting cast sharp, unflinching clarity over every cut and bruise that adorned his muscular form, the raw edges of battle still lingering on his skin. Not to mention how his skin was caked in dirt and ash, almost hindering his tan-flesh color from sight. The warmth of the store prickled against his soot-streaked body, his exposed muscles flexing subtly as he adjusted his grip on the tin box he carried, ensuring it remained secure in his grasp. He shifted his weight, the coarse sensation of dried sweat and ash clinging to him making him long for a shower, though he supposed appropriate clothing was the more immediate concern.

At the mention of another 'giant' having left clothes behind, Cyrus let out a low, appreciative chuckle, his voice a smooth, gravelly rumble that resonated deep in his chest. "Obie, huh? Must be a big bastard if his clothes might fit me," he mused, rolling his shoulders, the broad stretch of them shifting under the light. He eyed the offered overall, the fabric looking just about sturdy enough to contain him—not that he particularly minded being on display, but he supposed it was only polite to cover up, if only to avoid giving the town's authorities a reason to get involved. He took the garment with one hand, the other still gripping the tin box tightly, his fingers curling around it possessively. Even as he reached for the overalls, the flex of his forearm was noticeable, veins prominent against the dirt-smudged surface of his skin. The fabric smelled faintly of oil, sweat, and the lingering musk of another man, a scent that was oddly grounding after the chaos of the night.

Cyrus stepped into the overalls, the movement slow and unhurried, his body stretching and shifting with each motion. He pulled the garment up his legs, the fabric hugging his thick thighs as he adjusted the fit, the slight tightness becoming clear as the fabric stretched to accommodate his gargantuan thighs, thick and rounded buttocks. Cyrus had to take his free hand to his length and tuck it in a way that was not only comfortable for him, but in a way that wouldn't subject to any preying eyes—the latter of which, he failed immensely, for it was still visible as it strained across the groin area. Obie might have been big, but Cyrus was something else entirely. He fastened the front with casual ease, though the way it tugged across his broad chest and waist made it clear the fit was incredibly snug. He rolled his shoulders once more, testing the flexibility, and ran a large hand through his short-cropped hair, dislodging a bit of ash in the process. He hadn't even bothered to zip up the front of the overalls, knowing it would perhaps hinder his range of motion, thus revealing his hard, chiseled stomach and broad pectorals.

At Tommy’s question, Cyrus tilted his head, his piercing gaze settling on the younger man with quiet curiosity. "Not from around here, no," he admitted, voice smooth but edged with exhaustion, the weight of his earlier fight still evident in his tone. "And no motel yet. Wasn’t exactly planning on an extended stay." He glanced down at himself, then back up with an amused smirk, the corners of his mouth curling in that easy, self-assured way. "Though, considering the night I've had, maybe I should." His fingers absently traced the edge of the tin box, his grip on it firm, possessive. There was an unspoken significance to the object, something deeply personal, though he didn't offer an explanation. But as he stood there, he realised; he had no identification with him, no mobile phone, no money. The only way he would get out of his situation was by simply walking miles upon miles back to where he had originally parked his vehicle, deep into a forest trail, where it was silent and secluded from the world.

He adjusted the sleeves of the overall, flexing his fingers, finally allowing his stance to relax ever so slightly. The tension that had kept his body coiled, ready for another fight, finally began to ebb in the presence of another person who wasn't treating him like a walking disaster. He studied Tommy for a moment, taking in the younger man's lean build, the sharpness in his gaze, the way he carried himself—like someone who'd seen more than his fair share of trouble but wasn't eager to talk about it. That, at least, was something Cyrus could respect.

"Appreciate this," he murmured, his voice dipping just slightly lower, that natural rasp making it sound almost intimate. His gaze flicked over Tommy, not in an overt way, but enough to suggest he wasn’t just speaking about the clothes. "Not everyone would be so quick to help a naked stranger out of the kindness of their heart." His smirk returned, slow and deliberate, his eyes glinting with something knowing. He offered his free hand out to the man, to officially greet him, despite the circumstances of their first interaction, "Name's Cyrus."

CONTINUED, @adsagsona.

[capiovis]

It had been many years since Caius had stepped foot in a high-school. But his old stomping grounds, even though he attended for no less than half a year, still looked the same. One man had stood out to him. It had been over ten years since he was last in town, but he was glad to have come across his old coach, still in the shirt that was tight across his build and shorts that often left little to the imagination. He'd never done anything with his favourite teacher prior to tonight, but he had always wanted to. He'd been meaning to visit the school out-of-hours, sneak in and think of the good times he had here, while he was. There were still some students leaving to go home, or otherwise, waiting to be picked up after football practice.

He had found coach in the changing rooms. Within a few short minutes, he was mounting the bench and helping himself to Coach Daniel's shorts, hand digging in to retrieve that stupendously fat meatstick. Caius always had some idea of how endowed the man was, but surely, not this. Still, the grown and rugged man was still soft to the touch. After seeing no objections coming from the man, he lowered himself down after tearing away at his shirt.

No time was wasted to offer him with a steady stroke of his hand. Caius spat a wad of spit onto his hand to help lubricate the shaft, watching as his grip seemed to become smaller as Daniel's cock grew thicker and proving to become a challenge to yield it. Alas, his wet strokes came to an end, his hand ending with a steady grip at the base in order to tip it upwards. It was far heavier than he imagined it to be, so without a firm grasp on it, he knew it would surely collapse onto his belly or his hip. "Fuck me, coach... we always thought you'd have a big dick but this exceeds expectations." Caius delightedly commented with a smile fixed to his lips. And soon after, the smile faded as he leaned in, lips parting as far as they could to introduce that beercan of a cock. After a few slow bobs of his head, he had enough slobber drooling out of his mouth to coat the majority of that throbbing piece. Caius moved to kneel between the man's spread thighs, a hand tucking into the shorts to cradle fully-loaded balls, while the other was secured around the base of the member.

At this angle and position, he had better alignment. He utilised the coach's thighs to rest his arms. While maintaining eye contact, his tongue trickled out to swirl over the head, gathering every droplet of pre-cum that seeped out. Caius swallowed it gracefully, lust deep in his eyes. He tried his very best to maintain that eye contact, he wanted to see Daniel's physical reaction to the wonderful skills he had picked up since becoming sexually active. But as his lips spread far and wide, stuffing inch after inch into his mouth until he forced it into his throat, his eyelids could no longer be kept open, the strain causing him to close his eyes, tears welling up in them, muscles of his throat straining around that deliciously thickened intrusion. Alas, he did not pull away. He had over half of the length stored inside of him. Caius gagged, he withdrew, before plunging back down, retracting and repeating it all over again, not caring for how much of a mess he was making with his slobber over the man's cock, nor the way he audibly gulped the length down in rapid succession, the changing rooms echoing with the sounds of him swallowing, gagging and slurping.

Eventually, he plopped it from his hungry throat, letting it bob free in front of him, drooling with the combination of spit and pre-cum onto the ground. His hand was brought up so he could wipe the tears from his cheeks. "I've wanted this massive cock since my days in this place, Coach." Caius beamed up at him, his tongue swiping along the towering length, acting as if he had full ownership of it. "I spent more time looking at your bulge, ass and tits than any other book or board in this school. Look at me now, Coach." Caius proclaimed, just as he returned to lowering his mouth on that pulsing slab, his tongue working to massage into that hot flesh and lather it up. With enough swallowing bobs, a bubbly mixture formed at the length, it was far as he could reach without causing an injury to his throat. So close, yet so far from having his face be squeezed into his navel. Caius retracted, choking and clearing his throat. "I'ma lose my voice after this." He began, lips puckering to kiss at the ruddy wet tip. "Y'want to fuck me, Coach? I promise this'll be the best ass you've fucked in years. And if it ain't, y'can fuck me till it is."

CONTINUED FROM HERE.

[coivi]

The warm, honeyed light of the setting sun washed over Cyrus’ broad form as he lay stretched on the sunbed, his body a canvas of raw power, strength and resilience. His hands moved with deliberate care over Axel’s soft, trembling hips, his fingers pressing into the supple skin like an artist shaping clay. Each touch was purposeful, even if Cyrus' mind and hearing were numbed out as he relished at his desire, a silent declaration of how deeply he cherished the man above, that laid fully and openly above him, slotting in like two pieces of a complicated puzzle. No other man had ever felt and tasted more delicious and unexplainable perfect than Axel. The world around him seemed to fade into a sweet bliss as his tongue wrought itself upon that pink tightness, the rhythmic sound of the waves and the faint cry of gulls blending seamlessly with the quiet moans spilling from Axel's lips and the sloppy work of Cyrus' tongue working along that almost-virgin ring he had obsessed over, ever since he had first laid eyes, fingers and his tongue upon it. He knew from that day, this perfection was to be adored, protected and worshipped. In general, to him, Axel was a deity, and Cyrus was no more than the deepest, most loyal worshipper to touch, kiss and hold on to wherever both body and mind took him. Here, in this secluded pocket of paradise, time itself felt irrelevant. The most important thing to him was this man, and God be told, Cyrus would turn to ruin if he was unable to fulfill his insatiable hunger and devotion upon him.

Cyrus' mouth worked tirelessly for the next hour, his lips and tongue exploring the delicate folds of Axels' passage with a meticulous precision, bred out of pure devotion and an undying hunger that only seemed to be quenched after many hours of rolling, nudging and plunging his tongue along that tendersweet, pink little opening. Even then, he always craved more. Cyrus was, and had been, a true ass man; it just happened to coincide with the fact that Axel had the smoothest, prettiest and roundest asses he had ever seen in his eight centuries of living on this Earth. No man had bested him. Not only was it because of a physical attraction and sexual allure to that promised cunt, it also lured him into a deeper state of hunger when Axel gave himself fully to him, allowing him to spend many hours a week with his face buried away between those thick mounds of fat and muscle. Every taste, every movement was a study in sensory indulgence. His tongue moved in slow, deliberate strokes, savoring the way Axel's body shuddered, twitched and yielded under his ministrations. Cyrus groaned low against him, the deep vibrations resonating through both their bodies, his hands gripping firmly at Axel's hips to keep him steady. His focus was absolute; his entire being poured into the act of bringing his lover closer to the edge without ever letting him tumble over it, even with all of that hot juice flowing from the tip of Axel's cock where it rested on his chest, illustrating how aroused he was and the careful pleasure he was being supplied with.

The feel of Axel's thighs against the side of his face, warm, strong and smooth, only spurred Cyrus further. He tightened his grip, his thumbs spreading the soft curves of his lover’s backside to grant him better, deeper access. His tongue pressed deeper, swirling, teasing, coaxing Axel open with an unhurried intensity. The taste of that tender, pliant muscle—sweet, intoxicating—was a flavor Cyrus could never grow tired of. Every flick of his tongue was met with a soft groan, every deliberate press rewarded with a moan that rippled through Axel's frame and in turn, made him know Axel was content with his work. So far, he never had any objections or negative commentary on the art of eating him out, but from time to time, he would hear a whimpered complaint at how much time Cyrus was truly capable of spending devouring him without ever coming up for an intermission or saying a single word. Cyrus smiled against him, a quiet, possessive satisfaction building in his chest. Despite his own work being his sole focus, he was enjoying the way his lover slobbered over his length, care-free and willing to provide him with whatever pleasure he could muster. Most notable being the way Axel paid close attention to the pair of sensitive balls that stood rather firm, full and close beneath that colossal slab of meat, which was always in his grip. Cyrus didn't respond verbally, but often times, he let out a deep moan from his chest, and his toes would curl whenever Axel's tongue grazed a particularly sensitive area.

Hours and hours passed. Above him, he felt Axel's soft, trembling lips working over his cock, the wet heat of his lover drawing quiet groans from deep within Cyrus' chest, growing more and more prevalent as time passed on, but after so long, he could feel the intensity dwindling, which could only mean his lover was growing tired. No doubt, soon to develop a sore jaw. The muscular beau's movements were eager, yet measured, that tongue swirled over the pink swell of the head before dipping lower, tracing the thick, pulsing length with eager hunger. Cyrus' body flexed beneath him, abs tight and biceps bulging, his hips rolled up gently in response to the attention, but his focus remained steadfast on the body above him. He wasn’t in a hurry; there was no urgency in his touch. This wasn't about reaching a peak—it was about the shared connection, the unspoken intimacy that bound them together in sharing each others bodies.

Cyrus' hands slid lower, kneading into Axel's soft and pliant cheeks, his touch firm, almost like he was holding on to dear life. He marveled at the contrast between his rough, calloused hands and the silky smoothness of his lover's skin. He loved the way Axel's body moved under his guidance, the way he arched and trembled with each pass of Cyrus' tongue on that furled hole. The warlock leaned in further, his lips pressing against Axel’s flushed skin in a series of slow, lingering kisses. He savored every sound that escaped Axel's lips as his surroundings became more and more clear to him, every soft moan and shaky breath that hinted at how deeply Cyrus was affecting.

"Relax, love," Cyrus murmured against him, his voice a low, soothing rumble. His breath was warm against Axel’s heated skin, his tone steady and reassuring. "Let me take care of you."

His tongue resumed its exploration, delving in, much slower now, drawing soft whimpers and gasps from Axel as his body surrendered to the sensations. Cyrus' hands roamed freely, sliding up along Axel's sides, then back down to cup and knead at his hips. He adored the way Axel reacted to his touch, the way his body seemed to melt under the weight of his devotion, the way his body would arch to his touch like a cat does when it's petted. The setting sun cast a golden glow over them, its warmth a quiet echo of the fire building between their bodies.

Cyrus could feel Axel's neglected arousal. Full. Throbbing. Wet. Yet he refused to let him rush toward release. This wasn't about the end—it was about the journey, about savoring every second of their shared intimacy. His tongue slowed, his calculated to draw Axel to the brink and hold him there, suspended in a haze of pleasure and anticipation. The warlock's deep voice rumbled again, a soft growl of satisfaction as he shifted slightly beneath Axel, adjusting to press his mouth more firmly against his lover's trembling form. His hands moved back to grip Axel's thighs, holding him steady as he continued his relentless attention. Cyrus felt every twitch, every shiver, every faint ripple of tension in Axel's body as he worked over those tight walls. He loved the way his lover responded to him, the way his body seemed to dance beneath his touch.

Cyrus felt the cooling breeze brush against their skin, a gentle reminder of the world beyond their private haven. Yet, even as the day transitioned into twilight, he remained utterly focused on Axel, his every touch, every swipe of his tongue designed to pleasure and toy. But as the night grew colder, after many hours, his lips rose into a faint smile, his tongue finally retracting to offer Axel some peace. Instead, he kissed around him, tilting his head from one side to the other, laying wet, open-mouthed kisses on that supple flesh. "I could very easily stay here until dawn, stay like this forever, watching you, tasting you, feeling you tremble against me," he confessed, a groan passing from his lips. "I'm sorry, baby. Lost track of time... I've said it a million times and I'll say it again," he cleared his throat, hands clinging to the man above him by the sides of his body, hauling him into the air and adjusting him so that he was safely seated upon his stomach, finally getting a look at that sculpted body and pulsing shaft. "You're the most perfect man I've ever met. And your ass?" Cyrus bit down on his lower lip, tongue passing by them quickly. "So fuckin' delicious, baby." Plus, the notion that Cyrus was the one and only man to have ever had a chance at it, had lit that furnace of intimacy, loyalty and companionship he sought in his lover.

Cyrus' words lingered in the air as he sat upright, guiding Axel's legs to wrap around his waist. He had no intention of rushing anything, despite how dark it had become, until the silver glow of the moon was the only source of light now shining down upon them. There was absolutely no desire to let this moment end, even with the chill in the air. In this secluded corner of the world, with nothing but the sound of the waves and their naked bodies exchanging heat, Cyrus knew where he truly belonged; here and now, lost in the beauty of his man, his bestfriend. Arms protectively coiled around Axel's mid-section, hands ran along his spine and the swell of his ass, before ultimately having to reach down, assessing the work he had laid out for the past couple of hours. With a circular rubbing motion, the tips of his fingers worked along that pink, slobbered valley. Quite daringly, he moved to incline his middle finger against the muscled ring, digging it in until it had reached its first joint, before ever-slowly sinking it in deeper and deeper. Cyrus watched the man closely, noting his expressions as the finger slotted down to his knuckle, retracted, and punctured back inside, every downward puncture aimed perfectly at that sweet spot deep within. "You've made me the happiest I've ever been these last couple of months since I met you," he confessed with a genuine, caring smile whilst his finger continued to toy with him, his movements deliberate and precise. And in that moment, he knew, "I love you."

It was an absolute pleasure to be Cyrus’ lover, and Axel really had no better way of showing his delight in his man than lapping away at the other’s thick and heavy cock. He still remembered the first time it was revealed to him; the pure size of the other man was unlike anything he could have imagined. And yet, the librarian didn’t shy away from it or recoil in fear. Instead, he grew more selfish and greedy for it, in a way that made him happy knowing that it was all for himself. There was no better way to show his affection and appreciation than working away on Cyrus’ cock. Even at half-mast, it was far too large to fit its entirety inside of his mouth. But it never stopped the librarian from trying his best. His lover was quite skilled, even godly at bringing him pleasure. Axel wanted to do the same for him as well.

His focus on Cyrus’ cock and balls formed a steady, rotating position, with Axel nuzzling his head up between his lover’s thick, tree trunk-like thighs. Even though he preferred resting his head against the warlock’s firm and comforting pecs, Axel also found great comfort tucking his head up between those meaty, stocky thighs. Mewling as his lips and tongue slathered the other man’s cock with his saliva, the naked man worked his way up and down the pole. Even with both of his hands and his mouth pumping away, there were still plenty of spots that he needed to give proper attention to. Since they were on vacation, Axel wasn’t in any particular rush. But he could feel Cyrus sucking away at his hole like there was no tomorrow, and he worried he would orgasm far too soon.

Pulling off the fattening cock head with a needy and wispy gasp for air, Axel moaned deeply as he felt the tip of Cyrus’ tongue wiggle in deeper inside the sensitive folds of his cunt. His pink pussy was as tight as ever; the two of them used to joke that Axel loved to make Cyrus work for his hole, and today was certainly no different. With each lick and pry to that tiny hole, it slowly loosened and opened bit by bit to allow in more of that warm, wet sensation. The librarian’s body trembled and shook, his whimpers and mewls rubbing up against the warlock’s cock as he pressed tender, heated kisses against the veiny member. Axel was all too familiar with his boyfriend’s skill at tongue-fucking his brains out, and at the rate they were going, he was going to have great difficulty walking around this trip.

Thankfully, his own efforts to pleasure the other man were rewarded with a steady spurt of pre-cum dribbling out from the other’s cock slit. With Axel’s own cock throbbing and leaking out sweet juices over Cyrus’ pecs and nipples, he all but focused his efforts on that delectable fountain of salty gooodness. His tongue swirled around the head of the warlock’s member, making sure to swipe up any stray droplets and swallow it down as though it were his source of life. Axel moaned hungrily as he felt the heavy meat throb and swell betwen his hands. The warlock’s girth was always an impressive sight to see as it grew to its full size, and Axel was more than excited to have a front row view of it. “H-Hngh… Guh…” He groaned, his hot breath coming out in ragged pants over his lover’s wet cock. The pleasure wracking through his body was enough for his own erection to offer up some hefty and jerky pumps of pre, smearing along the other’s torso. Axel couldn’t help but roll his hips and push his fat ass cheeks back against the other man’s face.He needed more, craved it.

“P-Please… babe… Hngh, y-you… You’re gonna make me c-cum…” he whispered softly, pulling off the dripping cock head to look over his shoulder. The only downside of this position was him being unable to see his lover work away on him, but the view was spectacular. His ass cheeks formed a nice from for the warlock to stuff his face up between. The moans and grunts of pleasure against his quivering hole only stimulated him some more, and Axel ground his hips back once more to chase after that feeling. It was delightful to see the two of them riding through the waves of pleasure, each of them building up on each other. The flexing and jerking that Cyrus’ body was doing was all the encouragement the blonde needed for him to double down on his efforts. If he was going to climax, Axel wanted it to at least be together.

In some ways, Axel wondered if Cyrus was ever a sculptor in his long lifetime. The way his lover’s hands roamed and massaged his body, the firm smacks on his plump bottom, it was as if he was molding and sculpting clay. Whimpering with each caress and grope on his ass, Axel’s coupled it with lascivious moans around the other man’s balls. It was all he could do to maintain some semblance of control as he was eaten out. His widening hole was slick with Cyrus’ saliva, already dripping down his taint and even coating the underside of his balls. Another lewd mewl slipped out from his lips, his head in a lustful daze as he serviced his lover again and again. He was there to bring the warlock pleasure and satisfaction, however Cyrus saw fit. Even as time passed, he paid no attention to the setting sun. Axel had no knowledge of how long they had been out on the sunbeds; his fixation was on something far more delicious.

[coivi]

The day had passed by quickly and easily, with nothing to trouble his mind, comforted by the hobbies he partook in; reading, drawing, painting, gardening. Not to mention, the fleeting kisses his partner provided him with in passing. Kiefer had been a wonderful addition to his life, and Cyrus had yet to admit just how much the guy had meant to him. Often times, he would show it physically in the way he held him, kissed him, fucked him, but verbalising those three words seemed to be a hurdle he was scared to jump over, not fully knowing if the feelings were reciprocated in full. Still — it did not matter, because every now and then, Kiefer would walk around his home to find him. There were dozens upon dozens of rooms to check. But when he'd been found, he was always met with a warm embrace, a sweet lasting kiss from those pink, plump lips, and a sweeping caress across his shoulders, pecs or abdominals over the white shirt he decided to wear for the day.

It was nearing nightfall. Sun was setting. Cyrus thought it was only right to actually provide and give his partner some much-needed attention. Although Cyrus' love language was physical touch, he enjoyed numbing his mind in a book, or on a canvas. He left things as they were in his study, not finding the energy it would take to pack it away—in any case, he would be back the next day.

Cyrus' arms rose to the air as he began to pad along the lengthy, wide corridors of his home, stretching his bulked, slender build. Sounds of popped joints emitted from him as he walked, namely his back since it was where he held most of his pain. Every other room, he would peak inside, hoping to find him. But to no avail. Cyrus went on, checking every room possible; master bedroom, en-suites, the dozens of other spare bedrooms, living rooms, personal gym, garage, gardens, kitchen. Still, couldn't find him. It was then he decided to check the lower floors that housed a quaint, dark cinema room, a gaming room, and a spacious area that was built up of pinball machines, retro arcade machines, pool tables and a bar area, fully stacked with both non and alcoholic beverages.

The warlock found the man in the home cinema, huddled in the corner of a deep sofa bed, dressed in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs and one of Cyrus' hoodies, that was easily three sizes too big for him, so it draped across his body almost like a blanket. Not only was it an amusing sight to behold, it seemed to scratch an itch in his brain to see his lover wear something of his. Perhaps because it had his scent and cologne and it comforted Kiefer in some way? Regardless of the reason, the man had been lulled to sleep.

Goldfinger was being played on the projector screen, but Cyrus took no notice. He stood there, a proud grin lit across his face, hands idle by his sides. Kiefer looked so cosy and comfortable, sleeping soundlessly. It was then he decided to join him. He made quick work of his grey sweatpants, tossing them carelessly aside, leaving him in his underwear that left nothing to the imagination, and his lavender-colored hoodie. On his way, he carried an enormous, heavy blanket with him. Cyrus huddled up beside him, hauling the soft comforter over them. Gently, he raised Kiefer's arm so that it could lay over and around his shoulder, enabling him to lay and bury his face into his chest and the warmth of his neck. A pillow was still used to support his weight, knowing just how truly heavy his body could be. Cyrus swiftly tucked a leg between Kiefers, his well-rounded prominent package was pressed flush against the side of their thigh. A hand swept up, sliding beneath Kiefer's clothing to find its way to lay and caress over the side of his hips and stomach, ever-slowly, ever-gently, nothing to rouse him from his slumber, but simply acting as an added effect to his relaxation. Cyrus' body folded in around his lover, even if he was significantly bigger than him in all aspects.

PRE-ESTABLISHED STARTER FOR @p3cc4tum.

[capiovis]

tags.

[coivi]

Cyrus rested comfortably on the armchair, legs spread evenly, arms idle on the armrests, his hands resting loosely at the ends. He watched Ray move about the kitchen with a quiet attentiveness, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his lips; Ray was a rare gem—a rugged beauty, thick and compact, a good head on his shoulders, a large rump on his backside that Cyrus could only dream of relishing his tongue upon. Plus, the allure was heightened by how comfortable and forward Ray was in admitting his sexuality to a complete stranger. There was something comforting in the other man's ease—his sure-handed movements as he set the meal together, the casual cadence of his words, and the warmth that seemed to fill the space just as much as the scent of the gumbo did.

When Ray turned to offer the drink options, Cyrus pushed himself off the couch with a fluid motion, his tall frame moving closer to where the bowls were set on the dining table. His lips quirked in a slight smirk as his eyes flicked to Ray.

“Lemonade sounds good,” he replied, his voice low but smooth. He reached out, steady fingers brushing against the edge of his bowl as he spoke again. “And thanks, Ray. For the food, and… y’know, letting me crash here. Could’ve just left me to fend for myself with some greasy takeout and a lumpy motel bed.”

Cyrus’s tone was light, almost teasing, but there was an underlying sincerity in his words. He tilted his head slightly, studying Ray’s bulky profile as the man moved, though his focus seemed to always divert downward to the curvature of his behind, hidden beneath the dirty pair of pants he still wore. His gaze lingered a beat too long before he redirected his attention to the gumbo, inhaling deeply. “Smells damn good, by the way. You’ve got skills in the kitchen, I see. It's not oil and wrenches for you, huh?”

As Cyrus reached for his bowl, a faint but unmistakable scent wafted up from his hands—a sharp, artificial tang that made his nose wrinkle slightly. It was the industrial-strength hand soap from Ray’s shop, the kind that clung stubbornly no matter how well you rinsed. The smell seemed to grow stronger the longer he noticed it, and he grimaced faintly before glancing at Ray. “Hey, uh…” Cyrus hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “That soap from the shop? It’s kinda got me smelling like a damn gas station. Mind if I grab a quick shower after we eat? Promise I won’t take all of your hot water.”

Ray busied himself with first fetching the pot of gumbo out of the fridge. He took a peek under the lid, to make sure there'd be plenty for both of them. After setting it down on the unlit stovetop, he turned to pull out a bag of rice from one cabinet. Pausing briefly when he heard Cyrus speak, his eyebrows lifted alongside a slow surprised smile. The last word of the other's amendment had just come out when Ray barked the start of his laugh, before it petered into a slight wheeze.

"Well, thank ya kindly. Nothin' to 'pologize for though, don't you worry," he called back, while prepping the rice cooker on his countertop. "You're right on the money - I'm gay as a double rainbow in June. And I just styled ev'rything the way I like it; glad you do too." Ray didn't consider himself the particularly flamboyant or stylish type, but he knew what he enjoyed and the kind of vibe he found comforting.

After getting the rice started, he switched on the burner under the gumbo pot, careful to keep it at a roughly medium setting. It didn't need any more cooking, just heat. In the meantime, Ray did find himself wondering where Cyrus' own personal inclinations might lay. He didn't plan on asking, of course, as it sounded in his own head like he wanted the night to go a particular direction. While that might be true, he didn't want to push the expectation on Cyrus. He could content himself with imagination, like he'd been doing for a little while even before tonight. There were a couple toys in his drawer that'd come close to the size suggested by the fit of Cyrus' clothes.

For now, he had food to focus on.

Ray had timed it fairly well, turned out. Not long after the gumbo heated through, the rice cooker chimed. He fetched down a couple bowls from another cabinet, and glanced into his fridge again. "Food's ready. Let's see, we got some lemonade, few beers, good ol' reliable water... take your pick." In the meantime, he set out the other bowl for Cyrus, and started portioning some gumbo and rice for himself.

[coivi]

Cyrus revelled this moment—the heat, the anticipation, the way Raphael looked at him with something between reverence and hunger, there was so much innocence and lust in those eyes. He wanted to lose himself in that gaze, to watch as his bestfriend took full advantage of seeing Cyrus for the first time, fully exposed, not a single article of clothing to hide his burly, yet slender physique. His only wish was that Raphael had joined him, in being just as willingly bare to their intimate surroundings. A smile crept up on his lips when he felt those soft lips kissing his hand, as if he were a kindred, prized Princess. His own breath hitched as Raphael finally touched him, those thick fingers seemed to be nervous at first from the way they ghosted along his flesh, but in due course, they grew bolder, teasing along his length. He felt the warmth of Raphael's palm, the slight tremor in his touch, and fuck, that was beyond intoxicating. "I can understand why you're nervous, man... but try your best to relax. I don't expect you to gulp down my entire dick. Just... the only thing I need from you, Raphael, is for you to enjoy yourself." Cyrus cooed, his hand collecting itself on the side of the man's face, the pad of his thumb swiping along his bearded cheek. "Take your time. Don't worry about trying to pleasure me, and especially, don't worry about trying to stuff more than you can handle." Cyrus didn't just want to be wanted; he wanted to be used, he needed to see his friend take his time savouring every inch he could get to, to taste the slick delectable pre-cum beading at the slit, to feel the warmth and weight of it against his face. And he was so sure that Raphael—so eager, so hungry and aroused, and willing—was going to give him what he needed.

His smile grew wider as Raphael's plump lips parted to accept that flaccid heft into the wet warmth of his mouth. That first wet slide of heat around him sent a deep groan vibrating up from his chest, forcing his eyelids to close for a brief moment, his hand instinctively moving to thread through Raphael's damp curls, not forcing, but guiding, a possessive weight against his scalp. Not to rush him, but accepting him into his act. His gaze returned, his features softening as he looked down with a watchful eye, humming in pleasure and moaning in delight as the inches disappeared and appeared to him, which forward bob of his head letting his length dive deeper until that wide cockhead was hitting the back of Raphael's throat, requesting entry.

"Fuck," he winced out, voice laced with arousal, muscles that adorned his body relaxing and contracting as Raphael lost himself in his work. Cyrus honed in on the feeling of Raphael's tongue flattening beneath the weight of his fat slab of meat, and Cyrus exhaled sharply, his hips resisting the urge to thrust inward, to fuck into that velvety heat. He would let Raphael set the pace. After all, this was all for his benefit, even if Cyrus was enjoying the attention just as much. As those plush lips stretched around him, taking more, Cyrus could feel the heat coil in his gut, that wave of pleasuring coursing down his pulsing length, pooling at the base, encouraging the large, full, smooth balls that perched beneath to become firmer under Raphael's ministrations. As the minutes passed on by, it was evident Cyrus' manhood was beginning to fill out to its infamous monstrosity. He was sure Raphael had heard rumours about it, but it was a whole other thing to experience it in real-time. As that effortless swipe of tongue and brushing of lips along his length continued, the girth started to expand. Slow and gradual, unlike the length, which seemed to be gaining inch after inch after every minute that passed by. Sure, it took a while for Cyrus to develop an erection, but once he did, he could maintain it for hours to come. He fell witness to watching his friends' lips begin to spread wider, until they were visibly stretching to their limit. The hand on Raphael's head came to rest against his raised leg that stood on the seat of the hot tub, his other coming to remain idle by his side.

For a brief moment as his length began to visible appear much bigger, he leaned down, hand collecting the back of his head, moving in to acquire his friends' mouth into a heated, passionate kiss. One where his tongue trickled out to seek the taste of himself, to gingerly toy and dance with Raphael's tongue. The kiss ended in due course, with Cyrus delivering gentle, affectionate pecks to those lips. Eye contact was maintained as he stood upright once more, the hand from the back of Raphael's head coming down to get a grip around his throbbing prick, now heavy and full, drooping down due to its incredible mass. He lifted it with a light grip and bucked his hips forward in order to lay the entirety of his cock over his face, draping it over rugged features. Balls nestled just beneath Raphael's bearded chin, the towering mast laid across to fully cover over one of their eyes, with the circumcised pink bulbous crown resting somewhere past his hairline, amidst the wet curls of his head. "Would you look at that, Raph? If I knew you looked this beautiful, I would've tried to get you to blow me years ago." Cyrus let out an amused chuckle, but it soon faded once his grip around the base returned and he then proceeded to tenderly smack that slab of meat over his face, eliciting a wet snapping sound as it struck against the man's face. Once he had his thrill, he released his hold, hips retreating to let his cock roll free and hang directly in front of his friend, for him to take hold and continue his attempt to enjoy it. But before that could happen, Cyrus proceeded to move, to sit on the edge of the hot tub, with one leg extended out beneath the bubbling water, and the other with its foot firmly on the plastic seat, with just enough equal spreadage for Raphael to work with, his hands curled into the edged rim of the structure behind him, leaning back slightly, allotting total and complete freedom to the man.

Cyrus seemed to be transforming as his hands explored Raphael's body. Between touching and grabbing, the changing was becoming more evident. It was the possessive grip and the tone of the voice too. This was better than expected and Raphael let himself be embraced into that, the words and the teasing swallowing him whole. It went on and suddenly the water felt too hot and the temperature outside of it was hardly enough to keep his body cool. By the time he was being moved, his own cock was completely hard.

Even though they were almost the same size, Cyrus carried him with ease, lifting him up and giving a couple of steps to the other edge, letting Raphael go and stepping back just so Raphael had a full view of what was going to happen. And Raphael devoured every detail of that small show.

He had to keep himself from reaching to his cock underwater. He wanted that experience to last and he did not want to rush himself towards the pleasure. His eyes moved constantly, he tried to get in all the details. He wanted to see the way the muscles bent or bulged, but the point of gravity was another. It grew in intensity the more the shorts slipped down. Cyrus wore nothing underneath and the more his fingers moved down, the more it revealed of him and then, Raphael's vision was focused. Nothing else could take his eyes away from it again. And this time he did not even need to pretend he was not looking. This time, he looked at it with intent and no shame.

Time changed. It slowed down. That short moved down to slow. The anticipation was a grip around his heart. He could barely remember he needed to breathe. And then, it was gone. Cyrus' cock was there again, this time in full display for him. Raphael let out the air in his lungs and his lips shaped into another smile. He could hardly take his eyes away from it. The veins that bulged slightly, the girth of it! Cyrus' question brought his attention away from it for a moment and Raphael nodded excitedly.

His eyes were already going back to that beautiful cock but Cyrus stopped him, lifting his head again. They were looking each other in the eyes and Cyrus' presence had grown infinitely. Sitting there, Raphael had the brief impression that Cyrus had gained in stature and volume, as if he had grown when Raphael had not been looking. But maybe it was just the way his friend was suddenly so imposing. Moving his head a little, he kissed the fingers that had held his chin and he nodded again.

"Anything you want of me. I'll be at your disposal. Anything for you and this cock of yours." Raphael finally reached for it. His movement was slow, careful. The tip of his fingers touched the cock first, the tip of his thumb rubbing against the tip. Raphael wanted to play with it, worship it for the rest of their night together. It felt warmer than the rest of his body. It felt alive, pulsating and growing between his fingers. He moved closer to Cyrus, sitting at the edge, legs spread with Cyrus in between them. He leaned his upper body forward and opened his mouth, the tip of his tongue out. He took the cock in between his lips and it hit him. He was doing it. He was finally doing it.

His hands moved to hold Cyrus' thighs and his mouth moved to take more of those inches. He let them slid in. He did not rush it. His tongue was under the shaft, making for the perfect hole in which that cock could grow into. The taste of it was subtle, they had been too long under water, so most of the natural part was hidden under it, but Raphael could still feel it over his tongue, taking over his senses. He moved more, until he felt the cock hitting the back of his throat, sliding down. He moved back again and started a small movement, bobbing his head and working with cheeks and tongue to make sure Cyrus would get hard in him.

[coivi]

The cabin was steeped in the remnants of the night before—humid, heavy with the scent of sweat, musk, and sex. The dim morning light seeped through the crack in dark drapes, casting the living space in a muddy hue. The occasional gust of wind rattled the window panes, the storm was settling. The fire had long since burned down to embers, leaving only the faintest glow of heat in its wake, barely enough to warm the room, let alone their bare skin. Yet, Cyrus didn't seem to notice the chill, and that was probably due to his beloved core temperature keeping him nice and toasty for the entire duration of his slumber. Their bodies, still damp from exertion, remained flush with warmth, skin pressed to skin, breath mingling in the close, intimate space between them. The sheets beneath them were damp, tangled, and utterly ruined, a testament to what they had done—to what Cyrus had done to Aeson.

He could see the aftermath of it in the way his lover moved—or rather, in the way he couldn't move. Cyrus watched, fascinated, as Aeson struggled to rise, his thighs trembling with the effort, failing him, his muscles quaking under the weight of his own body. He had known—known—that his werewolf would be sore and weakened, but seeing it firsthand sent a fresh wave of satisfaction curling through him. His poor, exhausted mate. His love. A night ago, he had taken him for the first time, stretched him open, filled him to the brim, claimed him in ways neither of them could ever take back. After many years and months of coaxing, it had finally happened. And now? Now, Aeson couldn't even lift himself to his knees without his body betraying him, his strength drained, his legs utterly useless from the sheer force of what they had done.

Cyrus didn't intervene at first. No, he let him try. Let him push himself up, let him feel every ache, every throb, every ghost of pleasure and pain still lingering in his battered muscles. And then, just as expected, Aeson's body gave out entirely. His legs buckled, and he collapsed forward, straight into Cyrus' waiting arms. The impact was soft, his weight pressing firmly against the broad expanse of Cyrus' bare chest, his cheek flush against warm, sweat-slick skin of his pecs. Instinctively, Cyrus' arms came up to catch him, one wrapping tight around Aeson's waist, the other sliding down the length of his spine, fingers splaying at the small of his back. He could feel Aeson's breath stagger, his body still shaking slightly from the strain, from the soreness no doubt settling deep into his nerves.

Cyrus exhaled a slow, indulgent breath, pressing his lips into the crown of Aeson's tousled dark hair, the taste of salt and skin lingering on his tongue. His fingers traced idle patterns along the dip of Aeson's spine, following the path of his own previous grip marks from the night prior, where his hands had held him steady, pinned him down, owned him, held him. His touch was gentle now, though, soothing rather than demanding, as he took in the beautiful wreckage of his lover. "Oh, babe," he murmured, voice rich with amusement and something deeper, something almost tender beneath the smug satisfaction. "I don't think a spell's gonna fix what I did to you." A soft snicker came before he could stop it. "And, I don't want to. I want you to sit with it."

Aeson seemed to say nothing at first, only burrowed deeper against him, as if hiding his face in the warmth of his chest could somehow shield him from the obvious truth of his predicament. Cyrus smirked, but he didn't press—at least, not yet. Instead, he let his palm drift lower, trailing over the curve of Aeson's sculpted ass, feeling the way the muscle twitched under his touch, sore and sensitive. He gave it the lightest squeeze, enjoying the way Aeson's body instinctively tensed in response. "Damn," he mused, voice dropping into something slower, lazier. "I hope I haven't traumatised you from wanting to try my dick again." The sheer notion of it—the proof of what they had done, of what he had done to once-prideful man—sent a rush of possessive pride coursing through him, something he seldom felt. He had wrecked Aeson in the best possible way, had left him marked, ruined, full, and thoroughly his. "You can't say I didn't try to warn you, but I have to admit, you did a whole lot better than I thought you would."

He heard Aeson groan, something between desperation and frustration turning into acceptance, and Cyrus chuckled, low and deep, fingers tightening just slightly where they rested against his lover's waist. "Alright, alright," he relented, shifting just enough to brace Aeson more securely against him. "Let's get you up before you fall asleep against my tits." He paused, grinning against the top of Aeson's head. "Not that I'd mind. But I don't think your pride could take much more, hm?"

Cyrus rose to his full height with effortless grace, cradling Aeson against his chest as if he weighed nothing. His arms held firm, one beneath the curve of his lover's thighs, the other bracing his back, keeping him pressed flush against his bare torso. He stepped away from their place of rest and pleasure, the cabin door creaked as he nudged it open with his shoulder, revealing the aftermath of the storm. It took a few seconds for his vision to adjust to the bright morning. The earth was damp, thick with the scent of rain and pine, the ground littered with wet leaves that clung to the soles of his feet as he strode forward, flaccid length batting between his thighs. With every step, the cold bit at his skin, but the warmth of Aeson in his arms was enough to keep him grounded, the steady weight of his spent body a reminder of the night they had shared together, and what a beautiful night it had been. As they reached the worn stone steps leading down to the lake, Cyrus moved carefully, his grip tightening just slightly, ensuring Aeson remained secure against him. The rocks were slick beneath his feet, smoothed by years of water and wind, but he never faltered, never hesitated. And then, finally, they reached the lake's edge—a vast expanse of still water, untouched by the chaos of the storm, its surface like glass reflecting the gray sky above. Without a word, without breaking his stride, Cyrus waded in, the icy water rising up his calves, then his thighs, until finally, he was waist-deep, shuddering when his nether region was hit with the frigid temperature, though still, no such sign of shrinkage. He held Aeson just above the surface, watching as the rush of water splashed against his lover's already fevered skin. Cyrus dipped his head, brushing his lips against the sensitive shell of his lover's ear, voice a low murmur meant only for him, slowly beginning to untangle him so he could try to stand upright, where he could use Cyrus' body as a natural support to lean on if he so desired. "One step at a time, baby," he coaxed, steady and sure. "I got you."

And he did. He always would.

Aeson chuckled at Cyrus' impression. "Guess we've got a lot to catch up on, then. My poor, sore ass has no idea what it's in for." For a moment, he wondered if that was going to include another round of fucking before they got out of bed. In spite of how quickly he was growing hard again, he didn't think his hole could handle a second time so soon after the first. But he trusted Cyrus, and he wasn't surprised when the other man agreed to his request. "Sounds nice," he said. With his natural body heat, a cold lake wasn't that different from a swimming pool.

Once again, when Cyrus called him beautiful, Aeson went to lower his head and look away—or he would have, if it weren't for the fingers under his chin and the thumb swiping across his lip. Now he noticed the ache in his jaw, which had been drowned out before by all the sensations coming from his lower half. "I know I look good enough to get a guy like you, and that's more'n enough for me." As they kissed, he felt Cyrus grab his legs and pull them up around his waist. Aeson clung on as best as he could while he found himself pulled up, then rolled to lie on his back on the mattress. He knew Cyrus was being careful, but every small shift of the cock inside him would set off another round of whimpers and moans. By the time he was laid down, his muscles were trembling and he was panting for more air.

Then came Cyrus' hand running up his stomach. His eyes widened the moment he felt his boyfriend's touch find the end of the cock inside him. "That's you?" he whispered. Aeson had already been feeling raw, exposed, but this pushed him to a a different level. His mind went blank while the other man pulled out of him, not even registering the empty ache his hole now provided. He could see the pleasure on his partner's face, gave him a genuine smile in return, but he was also fighting the urge to hide his tenderness behind a stupid joke. A soft red line spread across the skin Cyrus was batting with his dick and he wondered what his lover now thought of him. If Cyrus still respected his abilities or if he was now a sensitive, vulnerable being in need of constant protection.

After giving the other man time to stake his claim, he eased himself up into a sitting position and immediately ground his teeth together. Fuck, was his ass sore, but he already knew that. It was more of a surprise when he went to get onto his knees and his thighs started to quiver. Aeson decided to push himself, though, and prepared to stand. The effort didn't last long. His legs gave out before he could lift himself up and he fell forward into Cyrus' strong chest. And there he was, cum still inside him, unable to walk, with his head nestled between his boyfriend's massive pectorals.

"Unless you've got a spell," he began, voice slightly muffled by Cyrus' boobs chest muscles, "I…I might need a little help. Just to get to my feet." His face was burning, and he was too embarrassed by the idea of his legs giving out again to look up at the other man.

[capiovis]

Caius was utterly losing the battle, his body trembled uncontrollably as he fought against the relentless, overwhelming force driving him to his limits. Every inch of him felt overtaxed, stretched far beyond what he thought possible, and the effort to keep himself upright was quickly slipping from his grasp when the aggression took over the larger man, and hips were clashing repeatedly into that healthy layer of fat that lined Caius' large buttocks. His thighs burned with an agonizing ache, muscles quivering and spasming beneath the strain, unable to support him any longer as he struggled to accept the rapid and agonising onslaught of the man's monster, his body naturally rose and fell on the immense girth impaling him, opening him and digging deeper than any other man had ever done before. His movements turned frantic, his legs flailing weakly, desperate for purchase, but there was no relief to be found. Each upward motion drove him deeper into the crushing, searing fullness that seemed to split him apart, forcing cries, screams and whimpers from his lips that sounded more broken with every thrust, no shame in displaying the pleasured pain that tore through him. His cock, untouched and aching, twitched between them, leaking steadily as it rubbed against the hard planes of the body beneath him, smearing his arousal across their sweat-slicked skin. The humiliation of his state only heightened the unbearable intensity coursing through him, a heady mixture of pleasure and pain that threatened to unravel him entirely. At the current moment, it was more pain than anything, though the constant ramming and rubbing along those tight, velvety walls seemed to numb itself from the friction. Despite the man's length piercing into him, claiming what was now rightfully his, Caius used whatever strength he had within to ensure he could tighten the muscles of his core, tightening the muscles around that throbbing mast so he could provide a better, deeper sensation to the man's might that continuously borrowed into him.

His hands scrambled for something to hold onto, gripping at broad shoulders, clawing at solid muscle of Hades' pectorals, anything to anchor himself against the brutal thrusts. "I'm yours. All yours, Sir." And you're mine. His breaths came in frantic, ragged heaves, chest rising and falling as though he couldn’t draw in enough air. Pecs bounced, every slam into him bringing his body to act out in response. His jet black hair clung damply to his forehead, sweat dripping down his flushed face as his entire body betrayed him, quivering and weak. His thighs gave one last feeble attempt to steady themselves, twitching violently before giving out completely, leaving him to collapse helplessly, only braced into position by the strength of the man that held him at his waist, to lock him into place so that he may use him as he wished. A strangled sob tore from his throat as the forceful stretch within him only deepened, the pulsing, throbbing sensation tearing through his overly sensitive nerves. His trembling legs hung uselessly on either side, his toes curling and uncurling in an involuntary response to the sharp waves of stimulation wracking his body. Tears blurred his vision, hot trails spilling down his cheeks as he gasped, his head tipping back in a moment of pure, helpless surrender. "FUCKKKKKKKKK!" Despite the burn, the pain, the ache, he could not bring himself to disappoint this man, one who he had dreamed of tasting and worshipping. Caius understood that after tonight, he would not be walking or sitting for the next week; that seemed to be a normal occurrence for any man that dared to challenge Hades and that third leg of his.

The strain on his body was unbearable, his overstimulated flesh trembling with the effort of enduring it all. Every movement felt like fire licking through his veins, the raw intensity too much, yet somehow still not enough to push him fully over the edge. His thighs flinched and twitched, utterly spent, his body shaking as he desperately tried to adjust, to find some kind of rhythm that would grant him relief. But his attempts were futile; every thrust jarred him, every collision of their bodies sent sparks of overstimulation shooting through him, leaving him gasping and whimpering. His lips parted to plead, to beg for something he couldn’t name, but the words came out as nothing more than breathless, incoherent cries, grunts and winces, screams. His hands clenched into fists, his nails biting into his palms as he sought some small measure of control, but it slipped through his grasp like water. His body was entirely at the mercy of the storm engulfing him, trembling and trembling, his head lolling forward as his strength abandoned him completely. He was undone, utterly broken, his form quivering in surrender as the sheer force of it all consumed him. "I-I... I'm... nobody's slut... but yours, Sir." Caius was quite reserved, only offering his body to those he thought needed it; he wasn't as skilled as others, but what he lacked in experience, he more than made up for it with his thickened body, a large and delectable rump, tight milky-soft hole, and the will and desire to please.

Before he could fully register the change, Hades surged upward, his massive frame sitting up effortlessly, lifting Caius like he weighed nothing at all, there was a moment of reprieve from the rapid hammering of that powerful shaft. His feet no longer found its perch on the stone ground and instead, the entire weight of his body was being held up by those strong arms, large hands digging into the fat of his globes to steady him above Hades' gifted endowment. The motion left Caius gasping, his overstimulated body jerking as the shift caused him to sink even deeper onto the impossible girth impaling him. His legs, now useless and trembling, dangled on either side of Hades's powerful torso, his toes barely brushing against the floor as he was pulled flush against the gladiator’s chest.

Caius let out a shaky, breathless whimper, his hands instinctively gripping at the back of Hades's neck, laying down more of that gentle touch in the hopes of seeking his calmer, softer nature that he hoped was buried beneath all that rage and lust. His slender fingers tangled in damp strands of dark hair as he clung to him for support. His body trembled violently, his thighs twitching against Hades’s sides as he was held securely in place. The pressure inside him was unbearable, the deep, throbbing stretch making him quiver and moan freely, but there was no escaping the firm grip that anchored him in place. He could feel the overwhelming strength radiating from Hades's body, the sheer power behind every movement as his hips shifted subtly, grinding him down further. Caius shuddered, his lips parting in a desperate gasp, tears spilling freely now as he tried to adjust, but Hades held him steady, refusing to let him slip away. But as free as Hades was to do as he wished, how he wished, Caius let out a deep, guttural moan when he felt the soft pillowy nature of the man's lips ghosting across his neck, moving further upward into his bearded jawline to seize his lips into a searing, hot kiss. One that promised him pleasure and protection.

Caius’s trembling breath caught as Hades’ deep, commanding voice rumbled against his ear, a dark promise that sent another shudder rippling through his overstimulated frame. The grip on his waist tightened, leaving no room for escape, no choice but to yield entirely to the relentless force beneath him. Caius whimpered softly, his legs twitching weakly in a final, futile attempt to gain control, but he was no match for the raw power that held him in place, guiding him down onto the relentless length again and again, leaving him completely at Hades's mercy. This time however, the pace softened. Caius felt a deeper sense of belonging. With the larger man's body now shifted closer, his cries ceased and instead were replaced with moans, winces and whimpers. That slow and deliberate sinking of his body onto that hot tool made his own dick throb, hardening out and fully in response. "Fuck, fuck, shit... oh God!" If it weren't for Hades hoisting his body up, he would have collapsed. With one final glance downward, watching as the thick, wet cock disappeared, inch after inch, Caius pleaded, for the sake of his body and his emotional well-being, even if there was a promise Hades would take care of him. He proceeded to attempt to unwrangle himself from those powerful arms, with some major difficulty, as it seemed like Hades did not want to release the hold he had upon him. "Please... Sir, have mercy... please, God please..." Caius sobbed out. In time, after many moments of being used as nothing more than Hades' own personal cocksleeve, his weak body proceeded to lay out, resting on his back between Hades' legs, cock still sheathed deep inside of him. Taut abs flexed, biceps and pecs flared, cock laid desperately against his hip, still completely ignored, he was breathing quickly and attempting to regulate himself for however long Hades may grant him that mercy. After a minute to compose himself, his gaze turned to the brawny figure before him amidst tearful wet lashes. There was such beauty and masculinity in the man's sculpted brawn that had Caius' heart skip a beat. Not to mention that grand cock and full balls that had yet to be emptied. That was Caius' sole mission; balls to be emptied, no matter how long it would take, and if he would live to tell the tale. Slowly, he eased off, hands braced on the stone ground to haul himself away, inch after inch slipping free until it was freed from the wet warmth of his body. There was a feeble attempt to rise up to his feet, but ultimately, his legs failed him and instead, he simply proceeded to turn himself away, laying out on his front amidst a makeshift bed of blankets. The arch of his back came natural to him. It was a deep, beautiful arch that displayed the full roundness, heft and curvature of his ass. From between his legs, his fingers came to massage over that pert hole: little, soft and tamed, the complete opposite of his partners cock: enormous, hard and wild. "Come... please, let me take care of you." His words didn't appear as promising as he wished, now that he knew what Hades was capable of. Though now, as the silence grew and Caius had seen the softer side of the man, he needed Hades to acknowledge that he was here, purely because he was utterly infatuated by him, and he wanted to provide the man with every pleasure and any intimacy he wished for. The latter was where he truly shined; he had met many Gladiators that simply wanted to sheathe their cocks, be consoled and adored and the need to fuck; Hades seemed like the rest, though in Caius' experience, he was fiercer, stronger and more enduring than the rest. Not to mention, that huge fuckstick that had already brought him to much joy and agony. Those were dangerous words to speak out loud. Especially in this position, the only thing he had to brace onto was the fabric beneath him, and perhaps Hades' arm if it came to support his weight beside him. More so in the fact that, at this position, there was potential to be held and locked in place, and he would simply have to endure and accept what may come.

I don't wish to anger you.

Hades doubted that, though it was no fault of Caius's own. Only a man forged into a living weapon could believe that something so exquisite, so potent in his beauty and skilled in pleasure, would seek to seduce him only to leave him aching, unsated, the tension mounting unbearably within his loins. Hades had never encountered a creature quite like Caius before------ stunning and refined, yet with the carnal hunger of a true inamorato, one who craved all of him, every inch, every pulse, every drop. The intensity was dizzying, a feverish delirium of lust where all else fell away but bliss. Hades had known pleasure, yet many lovers were fleeting conquests, half-hearted, mere gifts for his victories------ meek bodies unable to match the tireless hunger of a gladiator. But Caius... Caius fought to keep up. And it was this desire, this striving, that sent his blood surging with a violent heat.

Anger was his armor. It always had been. Nevertheless, Caius met his fire with serenity, lips curling with a softness that mocked the storm. Pale, graceful hands (hands made for poetry, not battle,) slid over the heat of Hades's battle-worn muscles, tracing the bulging curves of his biceps, the broad plane of his chest. Hades's breath caught in his throat. His body, a temple of raw power, being worshipped? It was an addictive and dangerous thrill. A low, guttural sound escaped him when those delicate fingers drifted lower, encircling the throbbing length of his cock, slick and pulsing, the head swollen, glistening with need. And gods, the tightness of Caius's body was unbearable------ a scalding velvet heat as he took Hades inch by inch, stretching, yielding, trembling yet determined to take it all again.

"F-fuck----" Hades's hands snapped to Caius's narrow waist, fingers digging into flesh as he impaled him further, the intense squeeze making his vision blur. That perfect body, sculpted yet soft, quivered as he sank down completely, the base of Hades's cock flush against his trembling cheeks. He was made for this. Made for Hades. "This sweet little ass----- mine. Entirely mine," Hades growled, voice ragged, guttural, his storm-grey eyes locked on Caius's flushed face. "You have no idea what you've invited. My hunger... it will break you."

And yet, just as he spoke, Caius leaned in, lips parting, pressing to Hades's own in a kiss so vulnerable it fucking destroyed him. The softness was utterly disarming; kisses had always been dominance, a way to mark, to claim. Gentleness had no place in a gladiator's life, but those plush lips coaxed his own into languor, their tongues eagerly tangling in a soothing cadence, a teasing dance of sorts. All while Caius remained seated on his cock, the tight heat pulsing, milking, driving Hades to madness. His hands flexed, craving violence, craving more, but held back, lost in the taste of this beautiful boy surrendering himself so sweetly.

Hades wanted to devour him. But more than that------ he wanted to possess him. Entirely.

Then, he found himself gently pushed onto his back again. Hades followed, sensing that this was Caius’s way of asserting himself, of proving his worth as a lover. And, truth be told, it provoked something in Hades, igniting a need to prove himself in return. ...But that was the nature of him, turning everything into a competition, a constant game of one-upmanship. The rhythm built again, Caius's thighs trembling as he began to ride him in earnest, body rising and falling, a perfect symphony of motion, the slick wet sounds of their joining obscene in the torchlit chamber. That Hades had not already given in to the overwhelming pleasure was a testament to his brutal discipline, the iron control crafted through years of grueling training and the immense stamina of a warrior made for conquest. Hades's hands slid lower, gripping those working thighs, callused fingers dragging over supple, silky skin. "You said you were mine. Say it again," he demanded, tones dark and savage, an almost cruel smile forming. "...And fucking take all of me. Every fucking inch." And with that, he seized Caius's waist, driving him down with brutal force, the impact so deep, so punishing, and the sight of Caius so absolutely ruinous. The boy's own cock, untouched, wept between them, streaking both their chiseled abdomens with glistening pearl.

Without warning, Hades dug his heels into the stone floor, his powerful hips surging upward, muscles clenched with the need to claim as he bounced Caius forcibly on his monstrous cock. The heat between them was palpable, thick in the air, the pleasure so sharp it bordered on agony. Those big hands clamped around Caius's middle guided every downward slam of his body, just as Hades was ruthlessly fucking up into him, overstretching that abused pink hole, continuously brutalizing the boy's thick and pretty ass. He needed to see Caius break for him, as the throbbing veins of that heavy shaft rubbed up against his every sweet spot in every wickedly thorough manner possible. It was obvious that Hades wasn't just fucking in a selfish chase for his own many pleasures, he was learning Caius's most sensitive points the entire time, and then targeting them repeatedly.

"Yes, take it. You're a slut for my cock, aren't you?" Hades’s snarl was raw and uncompromising, a warning that the boy would feel the full depth of his possessiveness.

After countless brutal thrusts hammering up into that lusciously round ass, Hades finally shows a sliver of mercy, relaxing the boy to sit filled to the brim with his cock once more. His chiseled abdomen flexes as he effortlessly lifts himself into an upright position------ still burning with an energy he can’t quite tame. He is a true marvel, an otherworldly force. But this time, it’s Hades's turn to offer comfort. Whilst his powerful frame looms over Caius, there does remain a tenderness in the way he presses his lips to the boy's flushed cheek, wondering if the dampness there is simply from the sweat of their shared passion or the fresh sting of stray tears. Slowly, his lips trace a path to Caius's jaw, before seeking out his mouth, their breaths shallow and urgent in the humid air of the dim chamber. Hades’s forehead falls to rest against Caius's, the brief contact flooding warmth through him, the mingling of their breath filling the space between them with a tender, desperate yearning.

Suddenly, Hades lifts Caius by the hips, the strength of his body seamlessly guiding the boy up his intimidating cock. The action is fluid, too effortless, a display of terrible power that would leave others lost and quaking in fear. But Hades, with the skill and precision of a seasoned gladiator, handles Caius like a delicate prize, pressing him down again with just enough force to crash their bodies together in a tight, warming press, the closeness absolutely consuming them. Each movement is a masterstroke, the perfect balance of domination and affection, steadily driving Caius to the edge of fully crumbling. Hades’s deep voice rumbles against the boy’s skin, soft but commanding. "It’s okay," he murmurs, words heavy with a promise. "I’m with you... I won’t let go of you."

There’s a cold, calculated understanding in those words. Hades knows what he’s doing; he wants to make Caius weak for him, helpless and needy, so that with each pass, he belongs to him more completely.