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The first time, Yusuf did not think much of it. Nicolò was tied up, posing for a painting of Prometheus bound to the rock, and he needed to piss, and suggested that Yusuf just hold his cock for him while he did it, so they could get back to work sooner than if they had to untie him and then tie him again after. Yusuf did hold his cock for him. They did not get to work again after. But Nicolò had been mostly naked already in order to model, and the way he moaned in relief with Yusuf pressed up close at his side – it was not surprising, really, that they got distracted.
The second time, they were in a prison cell, waiting for Andromache and Quynh to arrive to break them and a number of the other inmates out. The cell did not have enough chains to restrain them both as thoroughly as the guards would have liked, so they had put the set of wrist manacles on Nicolò and the ankle set on Yusuf, and after a couple of hours Nicolò needed to piss. The whole place smelt of shit and desperation, and they could hear one of the other prisoners wailing loudly in another cell, and one of the people they were trying to help had probably been permanently maimed in the altercation that led to them being arrested. In short nothing about the situation was sexy at all. Yusuf held Nicolò’s cock while he pissed, and then he put it away for him, and then they went back to waiting.
But still, later, when they were free and safe again, Yusuf found he could not stop thinking about it. The weight of Nicolò’s cock in his hand, different somehow when he was holding it like that than any of the other ways he usually held it. The way Nicolò squirmed uncomfortably before, and then relaxed after. The way he groaned quietly at the release. The strange intimacy of participating in this thing that Nicolò did every day, more than once, yet Yusuf normally had no part in.
It is a few weeks later, now. The job is done and they are out of danger, safe in a rented room far from that prison. Quynh and Andromache are away for the day, having headed off early in the morning for the countryside outside the town to, in Andromache’s words, ‘fuck in the sun and maybe catch some fish or something.’ Nicolò and Yusuf stayed behind to laze in bed; for the last hour or so, Yusuf has been half-dozing with his head in Nicolò’s lap while Nicolò sits upright against the headboard, reading a book about medicine and natural philosophy which is, according to him, either a work of revolutionary genius in the field or beautifully crafted utter nonsense, he cannot quite decide.
And then Nicolò sets the book aside, and touches Yusuf’s shoulder, and says,
“I’m sorry to disturb you, love, but I need to piss.” And Yusuf, suddenly alert, twists around to look up at him and asks,
“Can I – can I help you?”
A long time ago, he would have been afraid to ask, would have worried the idea in his mind, at once desperate and desperately embarrassed, until finally Nicolò noticed something was amiss and gently prodded him into confessing. But he knows, now, that there is no need to fear that Nicolò will be disgusted or offended by this odd new desire. At worst, if he absolutely does not want to do it, he will just apologise sincerely for being uncomfortable with the idea.
“I do believe I can manage on my own,” Nicolò says, lightly amused, and then he looks more carefully at Yusuf’s face.
“Oh. You want to hold it for me? Like we did when I was bound?”
“I – yes. I don’t know why, but I keep thinking about it.”
“Okay,” Nicolò says, and then his brow creases a little. “Is that… all you want?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you want… do you want me to piss on you, or … on myself? I have heard that some people enjoy that sort of thing?”
“No,” Yusuf says immediately, and then considers it, and then confirms, “No. It’s not the piss itself, it’s… unless you want…?”
“No. I’d be willing to try if it was what you wanted, but for myself, no.”
“I’m not sure how to explain it, I just – when we did it before, it felt…”
“It’s all right,” Nicolò assures him. “I think I understand, perhaps. I… Yusuf, I don’t need to go that badly, yet. I was going to get up now because I was at a good stopping point in the book but… I could wait a bit longer. It can sometimes feel good, in a way, to be a little desperate and then have that relief, you know? Would you like that? If we wait until I really need it, and then you help me?”
Yusuf runs through a litany of blasphemies in three different languages and religious traditions and then says, “Yes. Nicolò. I love you, so much.”
“I love-” Nicolò starts to say, but breaks off with a quiet laugh, interrupted by Yusuf shifting abruptly so he can wrap his arms around Nicolò’s waist and bury his face against Nicolò’s stomach. They have been comfortable, lately, eating well more often than not, and so his belly is soft and yielding under his nightshirt and Yusuf loves that too, the evidence of ample food and rest smoothing some of the harder edges from his body. Yusuf rucks up his shirt and nuzzles into him, kissing and nipping and rubbing his bearded cheek against Nicolò’s skin, and Nicolò laughs and plays with Yusuf’s hair but his breath hitches, too, and after a few minutes Yusuf becomes aware of his burgeoning erection.
“Well hello,” Yusuf purrs, pulling back enough to peer at it.
“Now look what you did,” Nicolò says, his admonishing tone belied by his grin. “I can’t piss when I’m hard.”
“I didn’t even touch you there, it’s not my fault you can’t resist me,” Yusuf protests.
“Yes it is,” Nicolò insists, with an exaggerated pout, and Yusuf snickers and scrapes his teeth carefully over Nicolò’s hipbone and then shuffles down and props himself up on his elbows in front of Nicolò’s dick.
“I suppose I’ll have to take care of this for you then, won’t I?” he asks, and does not wait for an answer before closing his mouth around Nicolò’s cock. He is not completely hard yet so Yusuf just plays with him a little at first, pushing his foreskin down with his lips and poking into it with his tongue, until it draws back as he stiffens, to reveal the wet pink head of his cock. Nicolò is gasping under him, fingers twisting erratically in Yusuf’s hair, hips twitching though they cannot go far while he is seated like this. Yusuf sucks him in earnest then, thinking about how it must feel, his balls and his bladder both full, aching for two forms of release at once, and his own cock fills rapidly where it is trapped against the bed.
“Yusuf,” Nicolò says, a pleading note to it. Yusuf glances up, and Nicolò glances down, meeting his gaze, and swallows heavily, and then takes the hand that Yusuf does not have wrapped around his shaft and puts it low on his stomach. He presses down with both of their hands, not hard, but enough that he must feel it. Yusuf would whimper if he did not have his mouth otherwise occupied, his hips jerking mindlessly against the mattress, and Nicolò groans, and clutches tightly at Yusuf’s hand, and comes.
Yusuf swallows, and pulls off with an obscene slurp but stays where he is, holding the base of Nicolò’s cock in his hand. He stares, transfixed, while it softens, the head disappearing back inside his foreskin.
“Do you need, now?” he asks, unsurprised by how rough his voice sounds. Nicolò makes an incoherent noise, clears his throat, tries again.
“Soon,” Nicolò says, sounding as wrecked as Yusuf feels. “But I can wait just a little longer. If you like.”
Yusuf’s hips jolt against the bed again of their own accord, and there is probably a wet spot forming under him where he is leaking, overwhelmed with anticipation and adoration. He finds he does not want to get up, just yet, does not want to move or let go of Nicolò’s cock. It looks so vulnerable like this, spent and tucked up in its sleeve like it is trying to hide, and he wants…
“Can I…?”
“Tell me, darling.”
“I want to hold it in my mouth. Keep you warm. Until you need to.”
Nicolò’s cock jumps, like it wants to get hard again even though it is much too soon, and his eyes are dark when Yusuf looks up.
“All right. Yes. Please,” he says, and squeezes Yusuf’s hand where it is still entangled with his own over his stomach. Not pushing down, now, just holding. Waiting. Yusuf shivers.
“You’ll tell me, when it’s getting to be too much? I don’t want to push it too far.”
“I know, love. I will,” Nicolò promises, and Yusuf nods, and settles down, taking Nicolò’s soft cock back into his mouth. He does not suck or tease this time, just holds it there, safe and warm, enjoying the weight on his tongue, Nicolò’s free hand back in his hair petting gently, the arousal thrumming under his skin. This, they have done before, like this and the other way around, and Yusuf knows why he likes it; the intimacy of being close in this way that both is and is not exactly sexual, joining their bodies without chasing an orgasm. He loves having a part of Nicolò inside himself and savouring the communion in a way he tends to be too preoccupied for when they are fucking or he is getting Nicolò off with his mouth. He could not explain exactly why the rest of it appeals to him. Something about the thought of Nicolò holding back for Yusuf, letting the need and pressure build beyond the point he normally would, just so he can put his relief into Yusuf’s hands…
Yusuf is just starting to wonder if he should pull off and ask Nicolò again if it is time, he knows how stubborn he can be especially when he wants to do something for Yusuf, when Nicolò tugs lightly at his hair.
“Yusuf,” he says, sounding a little strangled. “Now, please, I-”
Yusuf releases him immediately and sits up, careful of his own cock throbbing between his legs.
“How do you want to…?” Nicolò asks. Yusuf leans over the side of the bed and finds the chamber pot underneath it. He pulls it out, takes off the lid, and positions it next to the bed.
“Come in front of me?” Nicolò nods and shifts over, wincing a little as he moves very stiffly, and Yusuf’s cock pulses even as he feels a little guilty for it. Nicolò perches on the edge of the bed, with his nightshirt hitched up around his waist, and Yusuf sits behind him, his own shirt riding up too as he splays his legs out on either side of Nicolò’s hips. Both times they did this previously, Nicolò’s hands were bound. They are not, now, and he hovers them uncertainly for a moment before setting them out of the way on his knees, and Yusuf loves him so, so much.
Yusuf hooks his chin over Nicolò’s shoulder so he can see what he is doing, and reaches around him, taking his cock in one hand and setting the other low on his abdomen, careful not to apply any pressure yet.
“All right?” Yusuf asks. His own cock, pressed snug against Nicolò’s arse, is so hard it almost hurts, and his chest feels tight, squeezed with affection and desire and profound gratitude that he gets to have this. Nicolò must be desperate by now, ready to burst, and still waiting so patiently, so willing to indulge Yusuf in his strange whims. Even after all these years it still overwhelms him sometimes, how lucky he is, how lucky they both are to have found each other.
“Yes. Please,” Nicolò says, barely more than a whisper. “I need…”
“I know, love,” Yusuf murmurs around the lump in his throat. Nicolò tips his head to the side, leaning into Yusuf, eyes closed. Even as his body is strung tight, his face is so relaxed and trusting that Yusuf can scarcely breathe.
“You’ve been so good but it’s time, now,” Yusuf says; growls, really, or to be entirely honest it is more of a croak. “Let go for me.” He presses down very gently on Nicolò’s belly and Nicolò makes a guttural wounded noise, and shudders, and then he starts to piss. Just a weak trickle at first, choked off after being held back so long, and Yusuf presses down a little more firmly, and then the stream picks up, and Nicolò groans again, the sound pure relief now.
It goes on for what could be an instant or an eternity, while Yusuf is aware of nothing but the tinkle of Nicolò’s piss hitting the chamber pot, the weight of Nicolò’s cock in Yusuf’s hand, the way his body is slowly melting into Yusuf’s embrace as the tension seeps out of him. That, and the relentless pressure of his firm arse against Yusuf’s straining dick. When he finally finishes, Nicolò sighs happily and brushes a kiss over Yusuf’s lips.
“Now,” Nicolò says, wriggling his backside in a way that suggests he is acutely aware of exactly how affected Yusuf is, “what can I do for you?”
Yusuf whimpers, and lets go of Nicolò’s cock to wrap both arms around his waist, pulling him closer.
“Just stay there a moment,” Yusuf manages, and Nicolò hums knowingly and kisses him again, unfairly coordinated and thorough against Yusuf’s gasping mouth while Yusuf rolls his hips the scant handful of times it takes to make him spill, moaning around Nicolò’s tongue.
“Thank you,” they both say almost simultaneously, and then both laugh.
“Really, that was…” Yusuf begins.
“I know,” Nicolò tells him, and kisses his cheek. “I liked it too. Let me up for a minute?”
Yusuf grumbles but releases him, knowing the way his arse is half hanging off the edge of the bed cannot be very comfortable. Nicolò covers the chamber pot and pushes it back under the bed, and then goes to the wash basin for a wet cloth, nightshirt still hitched up around his waist, showing off his arse and thighs. Yusuf thoroughly appreciates the view and whines a little after Nicolò finishes wiping himself off and lets the shirt drop again. Nicolò chuckles and brings the cloth over to clean Yusuf up as well, and then prods him to lay back down, joining him a moment later. Nicolò settles in facing him, kisses his forehead and nose and then his mouth, sweet and lingering.
“You should fuck me, next time,” Nicolò says thoughtfully when they part, and Yusuf nearly swallows his tongue. “It would take a little more planning but I’d like it, I think, being full like that and full of you at the same time. You could help me come and then help me piss, all while you’re inside me. If you like.”
Yusuf has no idea what his face is doing, too busy trying to think at all while most of his blood is attempting to rush back to his cock, but it must be somewhat worrying because Nicolò frowns a little.
“Sorry, is that too much? We don’t have to, it was just a-”
“No! No, it’s not too much, it’s amazing. You’re amazing. My brilliant beloved.”
Nicolò giggle-snorts and then grins at him.
“It was your idea first, my heart, I never would have thought of it if you hadn’t asked.”
“No?”
“I don’t think so. I liked it too, that first time, but…”
“But?”
“Yusuf, if we made bed sport out of every way you touch me that I like, we would never get anything else done,” he says, so serious and earnest that Yusuf’s heart swells with joy and he has to roll over him and kiss him breathless, there is simply no other option.