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Phainon is a great many things— cautiously optimistic, but only if his positivity isn't already dripping with toxicity. Careful and patient and—more or less—collected. He has his shit together, he thinks—or at least that's what these traits lend themselves well to. Maybe that's just his own perception—maybe that was only ever his perception.
All in all, a whole fat lot of good that has done him—sitting slumped over the counter-top of a bar at the other end of town, alone and miserable, if only by choice. He'd normally have leapt at the opportunity to invite any of his friends out for drinks when prompted, but… from the way his day way going, he had a feeling he wasn't going to make very good company tonight.
He certainly doesn't feel like he has his shit together now. And his drink sucks. An old fashioned, or something—it's too strong. The exact opposite of what his ex would have ordered—but that hadn't really made him feel better when the strength of the drink made him gag and his chest burn.
Not to mention—his bartender seemed to keep casting him judgemental, confused looks—thick eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed in a frown.
Great. Phainon feels like a failure here now, too. He can't even get drunk properly.
"Do you want something else?" Handsome asks, voice low, but still audible over the din of the bar. It's half empty, this late at night in the middle of the week, with some kind of alternative rock filtering in softly through the speakers overhead, so he's not overly busy—which means he apparently has ample opportunity to catalogue Phainon's reactions.
He's torn between getting defensive, and apologizing, and so he settles with something else entirely.
"I just don't drink often," He manages with frown. "It's nothing on your bar-tending skills."
"I realized that when you tried ordering," a pause, expression contemplative as he tosses a bar-towel over his shoulder. "No offense intended. And I would hope not; I don't think I'd have any place running a bar if I couldn't even make the drinks properly."
Oh.
Well. That makes sense, he reasons. For what it's worth, handsome doesn't seem to be particularly amused, nor does he seem to intend on mocking him. If anything, he almost looks… concerned? Weird. Phainon just nods once, stiffly, and then glances away, shrinking beneath his scrutiny despite it lacking heat.
"Allow me to make you another drink," he presses—less of a suggestion, but still with small lilt that tells Phainon's he's waiting to see if he gets a rebuttal before continuing.
Phainon just nods once, stiffly, before rather pathetically sliding his glass forward in defeat and folding his forearms on the bar-top, setting his chin down on top of them with a quiet sigh.
Curiously, the bartender doesn't wait for his input before he goes about mixing a new drink for him—efficient and sharp. Methodical in his movements, drawing attention to his long, black-clad, gloved fingers as he muddles mint, fills a shaker with ice, and then pours in varying amounts of what Phainon assumes are liqueurs, to the point where he almost feels a little wary. But he trusts the process, too entranced to do much of anything else. With a single finger, he holds the lid of the shaker in place and gives it a few, firm shakes, uncapping it and pouring the peach-colored concoction it into a glass filled with ice, topping it with orange juice and grenadine—the thick red syrup slowly sinking down to the bottom like melted wax—before finally sliding the drink Phainon's way, expression expectant.
"Here. Try this."
"What is it?" Phainon asks, but raises it to his nose to give it a curious sniff, and then a slow, cautious sip before waiting for a response.
"…House special," he supplies, folding his toned arms across his chest—equally as broad as the rest of him. Phainon, seeing as he's now freshly single, allows himself a few moments to silently admire his build. The way his shirt pulls taut across his defined chest—the top three buttons undone to reveal the stark red ink peeking out from beneath his collar.
"Oh!" Phainon perks up, going in for a second, and then a third sip with an almost delighted little noise. "Oh, this is. This is good. I can barely even taste the alcohol."
He looks faintly amused at that for a reason Phainon can't quite discern.
Phainon stares at him for a few, long moments, before suspicion pulls at his eyebrows, "By the way… Do I know you…?"
The bartender snorts, and Phainon finds that he wears amusement so well that he can't even reasonably be put off.
"If you wanted to know my name, all you had to do was ask," He grins, and Phainon feels his face heat. "Mydei," he finally supplies, "And no. I don't think we've had the opportunity to be properly acquainted yet…?"
It takes Phainon a few seconds to realize he's asking him to return the favor. Dimly, he agrees—there's no way he'd have forgotten meeting someone as attractive as Mydei before.
"Phainon," He manages, "Just Phainon."
"There wasn't any alcohol in that drink," Phainon regards Mydei with suspicion, voice betraying nothing, "Was there."
"Hello," Mydei hums. Curt. Not impolite. Shrugging, "Does it matter?" He pries, cheek dimpling with his knowing little smile, "I didn't charge you for it."
No, Phainon supposes. It ultimately doesn't, but—
"I made a fool of myself in front of you," Phainon laments, voice pitching into a whine.
"I don't know," Mydei considers, leaning over the bar-top, giving Phainon an eye full of the way his pecs press together. Large, and soft enough while at rest that they—
"I thought it was cute."
Phainon blinks. Pauses. "Huh?"
"What can I get you today?" Mydei asks instead. If he's at all fazed by Phainon's spluttering, he does well not to let it show. "I can put alcohol in it this time."
As he should? He is a bartender, after all.
"But only if you're taking a cab home."
Phainon sobers, squinting at him, "Something tells me this isn't a stipulation you set for your regulars."
"You're not a regular," Mydei points out, eyebrow cocked. "And I want to make sure you're getting home safe."
Oh. That's… that's quite sweet, actually.
Phainon goes silent for a few moments, ruminating over Mydei's words.
"Wait a second… So if you didn't charge me for it, then…" Phainon begins, like a light-bulb has lit up over his head. "Does that mean you bought me a drink?" He presses, blinking owlishly, the accusation leaving his voice. He feels almost… Shy, suddenly. And maybe a little hopeful.
He's getting ahead of himself—isn't it far too soon for him to be moving on? And isn't… Mydei miles out of his league?
"That depends," Mydei tilts his head, eyes lidded, and Phainon can't help but feel this is horribly, awfully deliberate and a nightmare for his well-being. He finds himself waiting with baited breath before he even realizes it, pulse kicking up in his ears as he waits out Mydei's punctuated silence. "Did you want me to?"
Phainon releases the breath he was holding, a wry smile forming on his lips as he shakes his head in disbelief, seeing the ball is now in his court. He respects the consideration and hesitation—but he didn't come back to Mydei's bar for the man in question to treat him with consideration, "Make me that drink and then I'll decide."
Mydei laughs—low, genuine, pleasantly surprised and beautiful. He wears happiness on his stoic features well—and that only makes earning it all the more rewarding. He stands back up, and Phainon gets a clear view of his broad back, shoulders, and his tapered waist. Of the flex of his muscles beneath his thin shirt, and he feels his mouth go a little dry—he can't even pretend to drag his eyes away.
Silently, watching as Mydei busies himself with preparing his drink, he wonders if Mydei catches him staring. Moreover, he wonders if he minds.
The drink he slides his way—the second one he's made him, now—is presented to him in stemless, short glass with a rounded bottom. Deep red, filled slices of orange, peach, cranberry, pomegranate seeds and ice, and garnished with a stick of cinnamon and a sprig of mint.
Somewhere across the bar counter, a couple sits down, chatting and laughing, while Mydei waits patiently, feet rooted in place. The glass is cold and damp with the beginnings of perspiration when he picks it up—maintaining eye-contact with the other man when he raises it to his lips—juice and red wine spill across his tongue, tart and sweet, alcoholic, but not overly strong. He takes another sip, followed by a third, his throat bobbing with each deliberate swallow, all the while Mydei watches him silently, arms folded across his chest. Expectant. Gaze dark.
Finally, he sets it down—it's mostly empty already, but Mydei tops it up wordlessly with the pitcher of sangria he'd prepared.
"So?" Mydei presses, setting the pitcher down and bracing his hands on the edge of the counter.
"Hmm…" As if the mostly empty glass hadn't done enough speaking for him already, "Not bad."
Mydei's eye twitches, posture stiffening, but he huffs and shakes his head when Phainon gives him a cheeky wink and picks up his glass again.
"I'll be back," Mydei steps away from the counter, half-turning, "Wouldn't want you to get lonely."
Phainon chokes on his drink and sputters, coughing, while Mydei stifles a wry grin and turns towards the people who had just sat down.
Regrettably, traffic picks up at the bar—Phainon doesn't get much more of a window to actually have a proper or cohesive conversation with Mydei again, and he can't help but feel a little put off—which feels… Childish, and he doesn't begrudge Mydei for being busy—but he's still happy Mydei thinks to check up on him every now and again—topping off his drink, and pushing water his way and gently suggesting that he drink that, too.
Whether it's the alcohol, or something unrelated he can't—or maybe doesn't want to—parse quite yet… When Mydei levels him with that quiet insistence—no-nonsense, but still considerate. Still careful—Phainon finds that he's in very little need of convincing.
It's too early for this, he realizes—maybe it's because Mydei's just that enticing. Or maybe he's just a lot more lonely than he'd thought. His breakup hadn't… Well, it wasn't exactly amicable. It had been pretty awful, actually. Messy enough that his friends had worried over his prolonged, uncharacteristic period of silence.
But things were better now. Kind of. He was leaving the house again, and of his own volition—
But then… he was still at a bar, wasn't he? Wasn't that just exchanging one form of poison for another? And he'd worsened his predicament by ending up at that same bar he'd gone to last time, exclusively because of the handsome stranger named Mydei who was only there because it was his job, while Phainon drooled over him like some—
"Hey," A low voice shakes him from his reverie—coming from somewhere beside him. He blinks, frowning as he turns his head to find Mydei's concerned face as he slips into the bar-stool beside him.
Despite himself, he feels himself light up—the tension leaving his shoulders and his eyes widening, lips falling open as he says the first thing that comes to mind—
"Aren't you on the wrong side of the bar?" He mumbles, speech a little slurred, "I wouldn't want to keep you when you're so busy," the words come out far more pouty than he'd intended, even with the majority of his racing thoughts having fallen into silence.
Mydei blinks, pulling a face, his eyebrows furrowing, and then smoothing out, like he's just reached some unseen conclusion, before a soft smile pulls at his mouth, and Phainon practically melts.
"I have someone else watching the bar for now. I am entitled to breaks," Mydei arches a brow, challenging, eyes watching the way Phainon idly traces the rim of his glass with his index finger, voice quieter, and deliberately low when he speaks again, "And I don't mind the distraction."
Phainon's eyebrows raise, and he rests his elbow on the bar-top, perching his chin on his closed fist as he considers Mydei carefully.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say it sounds an awful lot like you're flirting with me right now," Phainon isn't sure where he gets the courage—perhaps it's from the sangria. The red-wine from his drinks has left him feeling pleasantly warm and buzzed. A noticeable flush must be staining his skin, he can feel how hot his cheeks are against his knuckles. If he'll come to regret it… He reckons it'll be much, much later.
"Then it's a good thing I'm off duty," Mydei is quick to meet him half-way. Uninhibited in spite of the lack of alcohol in his system, all whilst wearing this… Irrefutably fond expression on his face. "I bought you drinks, didn't I?"
Phainon squints, challenging—a bit catty—"Does it really count if you own the bar?"
Mydei shrugs halfheartedly, "It's the intention that matters, I think. I can't help the fact that you found me at my workplace. Water."
Phainon hums, squinting in silent challenge, but he averts his gaze and obediently finds himself raising his glass to his lips to take a few slow sips of water as instructed.
And he pretends his ears don't heat when he hears the low croon of 'good' from Mydei beside him. He pretends he doesn't want to hear it again. He pretends.
"You should say that again."
Mydei's eyebrows raise, and then lower, eyes flitting down to his lips in silent consideration. Phainon finds himself so distracted that he doesn't even catch the way he reaches for his half-full sangria.
And Phainon finds that he doesn't mind, seeing the way he tilts his head back, exposing the long column of his inked neck, throat bobbing in time with his swallows, his lidded gaze locked on Phainon all the while.
"Hm," Mydei begins with a breath, setting the glass down, expression contemplative, "Good."
It takes Phainon a second for it to register—both the purpose, and Mydei's careful avoidance—Phainon chuckles softly when it does.
"How intoxicated are you right now?" Mydei presses, considering, sizing him up. "I can usually tell. But I'm not sure with you."
Not enough, Phainon thinks. If he was actually, properly drunk, he'd be touching Mydei right now instead of just thinking about it. As it stands, the small amount of red-wine in his drinks has only loosened his tongue, and stopped him from vehemently denying, with the adonis now seated before him, body relaxed, strong denim-clad thighs spread wide, that he wants Mydei to fuck him.
"Tipsy at best," He confesses, nursing his water, "But I didn't drive here."
"Would you like me to call a cab for you?" Mydei asks, and Phainon visibly deflates.
It must show—not that he's ever been particularly good at hiding his disappointment or feelings. "Mm… Such a gentleman, Mydei." He doesn't want Mydei to treat him like a gentleman.
"Or…" Mydei trails off, tilting his head, expression betraying nothing.
Phainon visibly perks up at that, and Mydei snorts.
"I see," Mydei continues, teasing, "Would you like me to take you home?"
Phainon's gaze falls, expression solemn—considering the words. Would he? What does taking him home entail?
"…Would you like me to take you back to mine?" He presses, careful, voice quiet, stare scrutinizing.
"I would," Phainon confesses, perhaps a little too readily. As if he hadn't already, more or less, come to terms with that, all whilst he'd lamented over how lonely it was, sitting at the bar by himself while Mydei served other customers.
"But aren't you on your break?"
"I managed to pull some strings with the 'management,'" he's quick to rebut. Mydei hums, still looking like there's something he's trying to parse, "There was a sad puppy loitering at the bar that looked like he might have missed having company."
"Would management really be okay with you taking a customer home?" Phainon tries to ignore how little he minds Mydei likening him to a dog in that teasing tone. He doesn't know Mydei very well at all, but he thinks he knows him well enough to discern that he's not mocking him in a way that matters.
"You would need to pay for your drinks in order for you to be a customer," Mydei responds, "So I think 'management' would turn a blind eye. Pets aren't allowed at the bar." Distantly, he can't help but feel that this pet bit is going a little too far, what with them virtually being strangers, but…
"Are they allowed in your bed?" The question comes before he can think twice. As firm as he'd like to be, as confident as he wants to appear… He flusters from his own words, squirming a little in his seat with the way Mydei greets him with pointed silence. Phainon's lips open and close, hands balling into fists, "Sorry, that was—"
"If they're well behaved," Mydei interrupts, propping his elbow up on the bar, mirroring his pose, chin propped on his hand, "Are you?"
Phainon is, he thinks, eyes tracing the arch of his brow, the curved bridge of his strong nose and plush, pink lips. He could be so well behaved.
The precise sequence of how he ends up leaving the bar and winds up in Mydei's apartment passes in something of a blur—initially tipsy, but moreover, excited and terribly nervous, gaze flitting between the road and Mydei's impassive expression. Mydei catches him staring a handful of times, sending him a knowing look, and Phainon doesn't know if he'll ever forget the way Mydei leans back in his seat, the heel of his palm on the steering wheel, while he reaches over the center console with his other hand, fingers splaying across his thigh and squeezing.
He thinks his brain stops working properly, somewhere between that and Mydei rounding the car and opening his door for him when he doesn't immediately follow suit, holding out his hand for him to take, and not letting go of it until he has to unlock his front door.
Phainon mourns the loss of contact, fidgeting behind him, unsure where he's meant to look. Unsure if he really should even be here, self doubt sinking in before he's even given himself a chance—for what could someone like him possibly offer Mydei? A codependent, barely-stable man drowning in art school debt, working in a career that—
"Hey," Mydei's voice cuts through the din comprised of his racing thought, and he turns towards him. "After you," he gestures for Phainon to step inside, and Phainon almost feels the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end beneath the weight of his scrutinizing stare.
But despite his own rampant insecurity, and despite the lack of familiarity between them to accompany Mydei's elusive nature, Phainon doesn't feel… Judged. Phainon doesn't feel scrutinized. All he feels, for whatever reason, is his concern.
It feels good.
Mydei pressing him against the front door and kissing him breathless feels good, too. Slow, careful movements of their lips. Unhurried, trying to find a rhythm they can meet each other for halfway as Mydei grips his jaw and slots himself against him, a thigh pressing between Phainon's legs and earning him a gasp that elicits a low chuckle from Mydei's throat. He presses more firmly against him, their bodies nearly flush, barring the pesky barrier of clothing—but Phainon finds he doesn't—can't—bring himself to mind terribly much. Not when he has Mydei kissing him like this. Touching him like this. When he's breathless and hot against him. When his hand is teasing underneath the hem of his sweater, caressing the faint definition of his abdomen, rucking up his shirt as he palms over the swell of his chest, thumbing at one nipple just to hear him whine as it stiffens beneath Mydei's attention.
Saliva strings between their lips when Mydei draws away to breathe, gaze dark, eyes lidded, while Phainon pants and arches into his touch wantonly.
"I'd like to have you in my bed," Mydei confesses. Too direct. Too honest for Phainon's poor heart—he whimpers, despite himself, and he's pinned in place, unable to hide or otherwise stifle his reaction as Mydei's intense gaze rakes over him from his face, down to where he visibly strains against his pants. Fixating on the growing dark-spot near the tip of his cock.
"Have I—" He begins, winded, and he takes a few, measured breaths before continuing, "Have I… Have I been well behaved enough for you?"
"We'll see," Mydei answers far too quickly. Far too easily. Everything Mydei does is too much in comparison to Phainon's avoidant nature.
He's properly tethered in place now, though.
Mydei's voice drops down to a low murmur, head tilting just so, "But so far… you've been good."
Phainon's eyes widen, his cock twitches visibly, and his head falls back against the door with a dull thunk as he sobs dryly. Mydei's low purr of good a mantra in his scattered mind.
It makes it easy for Phainon to be honest with himself, for once— and with Mydei, if not overly so.
"Please fuck me," He whispers, face flushed, but eyes pleading as he paws at Mydei's chest.
There's a flicker of surprise across his smug features, and then something darker, his eyes shutting for a few seconds. It's the first show of just how affected he is by Phainon since they'd first met.
He doesn't offer him a response—at least, not a verbal one.
"Ah!" Phainon cries out, hands and legs scrambling to find purchase as Mydei effortlessly hauls him up into his arms, strong hands spanning across his ass to hold him in place. "Mydei—Mydei. Put me down, I'm way too big to be—"
"Mm. No, you're really not that big at all," Mydei answers. Phainon can't see his expression, but his fussing halts, gaping wordlessly as his cock throbs against Mydei's abdomen.
"Oh. Someone liked that."
Phainon can't even offer him a proper rebuttal—wordlessly clinging to him, ears and neck aflame with equal parts arousal and embarrassment—
But not shame. He doesn't feel ashamed. He doesn't feel… Wrong, or bad. He could still be slightly tipsy, or maybe he's sobered up already… But what he does know is that alcohol or not, Mydei makes him feel drunk.
And… He makes him feel something else, too. Whatever it is, when Mydei lays him down in his bed and begins undressing him, he doesn't shy away from the hunger and heat in his gaze— raking over every inch of exposed skin appreciatively, with his hands following suit, mapping out the movement of his eyes.
His thighs clench when his palm wraps around his cock—he throbs in his grasp. He makes it no secret where his gaze lingers when he hums, thumb swiping beneath the crown, "Cute." He murmurs, "You fit in my palm."
He does, he realizes—but Mydei has fairly large hands and—that doesn't necessarily mean anything at all, but the idea of what he's suggesting—turns him on in a way he'd never had the opportunity to explore outside of this. Turns him on in a way that is finally unimpeded by shame. It helps that Mydei doesn't double down. That he doesn't tease him for liking things. That he doesn't focus too intensely on any one specific thing.
He's still clothed when he climbs between his legs, lube in hand, ghosting slick fingers against the clench of his rim. "Do you play with yourself here often?" He asks, and Phainon keens, nodding jerkily. Too turned on to be properly embarrassed.
"Thought so," Mydei begins, and before Phainon can offer an indignant response, he continues, "Good."
What an evil word.
"You'll need the experience."
He doesn't doubt it, having felt the shape of Mydei's hard cock pressed against his hip just earlier.
The pads of his fingers trace his entrance—rubbing slow, tight circles into the furl of muscle, while he kisses him breathless in an effective distraction. Pressing, slowly, easing the tips of his digits into his hole, drinking up his little whine and using the opportunity to lick further into his mouth, head tilted to the side to deepen the kiss, fingers easing in until the first knuckle. He's patient and cautious—only continuing once he's sure Phainon has adjusted before pressing his fingers in further. Curling and twisting them, giving small come-hither motions just past the clench of his entrance and humming, pleased, when Phainon chokes out a moan and his back arches up sharply off of the bed.
He opens up for him easily, forcing himself to relax around the familiarity of the intrusion—and Mydei's low croon of, "That's it… just like that. You're taking me so well," makes him feel faint.
At some point, he whimpers about wanting to see more of Mydei, too—that it's unfair for him to be the only one undressed. Seeing Mydei sit back between his spread thighs while he unbuttons his shirt and he shakes out of hair, roots damp with perspiration and sticking to his skin, makes Phainon feel short of breath. The red ink travels down just as far down as he'd first imagined, disappearing beneath the waistband of his dark jeans, which Mydei makes a show of undoing, while Phainon just watches with eager, glassy eyes.
He hadn't thought he was, but it's soon made apparent that Mydei wasn't joking about him needing the experience—laying his cock against where his own cock sits flushed and hard, dribbling against his belly. Mydei's cock is big—thick, flushed darkly with arousal. Phainon feels his mouth water and his hole clench and is struck with the realization that he needs it inside of him.
Mydei feels as big as he looks—the blunt tip slowly easing inside with a few slow, shallow thrusts as Phainon tips his head back, lips parting on a soundless moan as tears gather along his lash-line from the obscene stretch. It doesn't hurt—but it's overwhelming. Just shy of too much.
"Phainon…" Mydei murmurs, voice strained—strangled from how tightly Phainon is gripping him, "Tell me if you need to… Stop," He manages finally, and Phainon whines. Nods jerkily. Half-way to delirious as he keens and bows beneath him.
"Hurry, hurry," he pleads tightly, urgency palpable. He tries to lock his legs around Mydei's hips to pull him in closer, but Mydei's firm hands stop him in his tracks… Grabbing him by the backs of his knees and pushing his legs up beside his ears as he stares down into his tear-filled eyes, voice still light when he speaks, despite the sudden roughness. Despite the fact that Phainon swears he can now feel Mydei in his throat.
"You're going to take what I give you," He manages calmly, eyes lidded. "If and when I give it to you," Mydei outlines, tilting his head, panting softly above him where he stills. "Do you understand?"
Phainon isn't sure he does. Phainon barely knows where, or who he is right now—not because of inebriation, but because of how full he feels. How his head feels stuffed with cotton. Because he doesn't know where he stops and Mydei begins.
"I—ngh—I…Hah… I understand…" It takes far more effort than he'd expected to actually say the words, punched out of him with the movement of Mydei against him, the pressure on his diaphragm leaving him short of breath—The feeling of Mydei's fat cock bullying him open intensifying that twofold. He thinks he might hear Mydei murmur praise—whether or not he does, his chest still warms, his belly still clenches. His toes curl, calves bouncing with every thrust. With every slap of skin on slick, heated skin.
He retains enough clarity to realize, with no shortage of surprise, that he's about to come almost completely untouched, his poor cock dribbling and jerking pathetically, leaking over his chest and stomach. If Mydei pushes his legs up any further, he's sure he'd be able to taste his own spend sooner than later.
But he doesn't retain enough clarity to register the obscene noises he's making—cries coming out loud and unbidden. Pitched and desperate in accompaniment to Mydei's low groans and grunts.
And despite himself, he finds himself sobbing out a broken apology when he feels his rapidly encroaching release, "S-sorry—Sorry! Mydei!" He sobs out, earning a confused grunt before he elaborates, "Can't—I'm gonna… Gonna come—Hah…"
Mydei presses him further into the mattress, knees properly touching his ears now, cock dripping sticky precum over his face and neck as Phainon's eyes shoot open, wide and unseeing with how deep Mydei feels now, folding him in half. Rendering him absolutely helpless but to take what Mydei gives him—just as he'd promised.
"Come, Phainon," He whispers, gaze heated and dark, "Come for me… Go on now," He encourages him. Like a dog.
Phainon chokes— back arching up sharply off of the bed and his eyes clenching shut—every muscle in his body pulling taut as his orgasm trembles through him. Heat and pleasure licking up from the base of his brain to the tips of his toes as his cock pulses with his release—spraying hot come all over his face and neck, dripping into his open mouth and weighing down his eyelashes, forcing him to keep his eyes closed as his orgasm wracks through him.
Mydei's breathing grows strained, gasping quietly as his grasp around Phainon's knees falters, opting to hold his thighs against his chest in place of pinning them down as his pace stutters and he throbs inside of him. Distantly, Phainon is glad Mydei seems more affected than he'd initially let on—but how can he not be, when he has Phainon tightening around his cock like a vise, the contractions of his inner-muscles around him all but dragging his orgasm out of him.
"Where… Where do you want my cum?" He manages, an underlying lilt of desperation marring his words. If Phainon wasn't completely fucked out, he'd certainly take pride in having earned that.
As it stands, his own desperation takes precedent, "Inside— Do it… Please—Inside—" He begs. Pleads. Needing Mydei to fill him. Needing to feel him throb with release and stuffing him full of it, until it drips out of him from how fucked open he is. Mydei doesn't need further coaxing—if he could even handle more. Hearing Phainon beg him to fill him with his cum is erotic in a way he isn't quite sure Phainon understands. He wonders how far that desperation extends… But he's not in much of a position to draw this out, balls already drawing up tight as he growls, pulsing inside of him as the movements of his hips speed up, thrusts growing erratic and then stuttering as he fills him—all whilst Phainon whines and gasps beneath him like he's made for this.
He takes care not to land overtop of him when his orgasm tapers off, holding him close by the hips and listing to the side with a grunt, huffing out a dazed, muffled laugh when Phainon all but throws himself around him in a mess of limbs and whimpers out a series of sweet-nothings that he isn't sure he'll remember. Thank you's and you feel so good and you're so pretty—
They'll just have to repeat this until he does. Until they mean something.
He strokes Phainon's back until his trembling abates. Slow, firm pets, and he doesn't encourage nor establish any distance between them after the fact.
When Phainon's speech slurs, and then halts as his breathing evens out…
Mydei realizes without much surprise that the pretty thing has fallen asleep.
And Mydei realizes and acknowledges that he likes the feeling of Phainon wound around him like this. That he could get used to it.
He wagers that he'll get plenty more chances to do so, too.