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To the public eye, Eheeya is the same as always. A cheerful, outgoing playboy who only goes home when others start going to work. He has to keep up the act, at least until the upstart - now Cruiserweight champion - is done enacting his plan of blazing through the Heavyweight division like a madman.
He has to keep up the charade for a little longer, but thunderous heavens, he is tired.
Tired of fighting, tired of partying, tired of pumping his body full of questionable substances just because everyone around him expects it. The last shot someone bought for him, he accidentally spilled over himself, excusing himself to the bathroom and hiding there until, hopefully, the man who got it for him would have lost interest and tried latching onto another guy to lure to bed. Or maybe just the nearest alleyway. Hells, an unoccupied bathroom stall would do. Such is the life of clubs- the longer the night lasts, the more people crave to tear off each other’s clothes.
Not Dancing Green, though. Not Eheeya. Not anymore.
The bags under his eyes are hidden with copious amounts of makeup, and his shades besides. The headaches and soreness are endured only until pain killers kick in. He wants to hide away and stay under his blanket until it’s all over, but it’d be counterproductive to the cause he agreed to helping. Dancing Green’s sudden disappearance would cause an uproar, especially after everything so far.
After Eutrope’s disappearance and Hector’s death.
It’s only when he talks to Retsarra one night over the phone, the hhetsarro unexpectedly calling him, sniffling and sobbing and barely able to form a sentence, that he knows his woes are not world ending.
Can you come over?
Eheeya couldn’t say no, not when Retsarra had to clearly force the plea out, loneliness causing him to swallow his pride.
It’s too late to care about doing his usual routine of looking less of a mess, so he simply throws on a hoodie and pulls the strings taut when he leaves his apartment. The residential sectors are usually pretty quiet this late into the night, families and the elderly alike living here as well and thus having resting hours enforced. In the distance, Eheeya swears he feels his pulse thrumming along to the bass of the clubs shaking True Vue.
But he doesn’t have to be there tonight. Or tomorrow. No more, no more…
Yet when Dancing Green is no longer there, how does Eheeya act in public? How does he go about his day when there’s no mask to hide behind? Will the smiles feel ingenuine, or be possible at all?
He keeps his finger on the doorbell a moment too long to feel natural. Nothing, for a handful of moments, until a puffy eyed Retsarra opens the door.
It all happens with nary a thought of regret spared. They talk, sharing their pain with each other, though Eheeya listens far more than he speaks. Retsarra talks about his loneliness - a mutual struggle - and the man is clearly affected by all those important to him vanishing, with the possibility of more. Their eyes meet, the idea to quell the nightly terrors by keeping each other company both think of, and they both entertain it.
There’s no tenderness when their lips meet at first, neither of them willing to show hesitation or let another stray thought occupy their minds and kill the rising mood. Retsarra pushes Eheeya back on the sofa they talked on, and Eheeya lets him. He always lets them when he’s already at this point.
Their tops come off in haphazard, swift motions before Retsarra’s mouth roams. Despite the desperation they both feel, he’s still taking the time to explore, his ears perking up whenever he hears the kinds of sounds he’s looking for.
Eheeya squirms, gasps, not hiding a thing and then adding some. Where’s the harm in letting Retsarra feel appreciated? Is that not what he’s in his apartment for, on his couch, pinned under his body?
Their pants follow soon after. Retsarra is eager to occupy himself, sliding lower and lower until Eheeya’s cock disappears in his mouth bit by bit. Now the dancer is more honest with his vocalized pleasure, eyes fluttering and head lulling backwards against the sofa’s arm rest.
Retsarra doesn’t take a moment to come back up for a breather for several minutes. Eheeya’s thoughts swim, his mind nearly going blank, and fuck, he’s actually so close—
Eventually Retsarra decides to detach himself from Eheeya’s cock with a little pop, much to the shetona’s displeasure. He whines, opening his eyes, but Retsarra is already up and moving about. Not aimlessly, mind- there’s a clear goal in his mind, one Eheeya’s foggy mind understands when he returns with lube and two condoms in hand. Eager man.
“Can I fuck you?” It’s the first thing said between them since they finished pouring out their hearts. And yet they still seem distant. This feels like an out of body experience, having sex with someone from his division in the Arcadion.
At least he’s asking, Eheeya thinks. Usually, it’s a given that it’s the ultimate goal, so why ask again if he’s fine with it.
And so Eheeya huffs a laugh between the ragged breaths he draws. “Ain’t that the whole point?”
Retsarra blinks at him, then frowns. What’s that look for?
“No. We can stop.” Retsarra says firmly.
But Eheeya vehemently shakes his head. “No, no! Yeah, you… yeah. Fuck me.” How embarrassing would it be to stop now?
Retsarra needs another encouraging nod before he gets over his worries and continues. Seriously, Retsarra is the first guy he’s been with who’s so careful with him, hah.
…Hah.
Eheeya swallows thickly.
He pushes it to the back of his mind where it can resurface when he’s alone again. But not right now. Please, not right now.
The rather telling sound of the lube bottle being opened, squeezed and capped again catches his attention instead, as does the blunt pressure against his hole. “Wait…” Eheeya mutters, and he can already see that Retsarra is about to tell him a second time that they can stop, yet Eheeya holds up a hand to stop him mid-breath.
He props himself up on his elbows and turns on his knees, lowering himself on all fours. So he doesn’t have to look at Retsarra and search for anything more in his eyes than this is– a distraction.
Content so long as Eheeya is, Retsarra’s deep voice merely rumbles in acknowledgement- a noise arousing enough to cause Eheeya’s short tail to twitch. Of course right where it’s in view for Retsarra, but he doesn’t comment on it.
Nor does he comment on the gasp his two fingers force out of Eheeya when they enter him. Feeling something slippery against his rim, the shetona surmises that’s the purpose of the second condom. Retsarra keeps his claws long, after all. Again, he’s so thoughtful, and a horrifyingly large part of Eheeya thinks he’s not worth the trouble.
As Solution 9’s resident party animal, he should be an easy lay after all, right?
Right. In theory.
This is far from his first time, especially not with a man. But Retsarra’s caring nature, his gentleness paired with the touch of a man desperate to forget, just for a night… That’s new. That feels like something he is undeserving of.
Retsarra is slow when he begins to pump his fingers in and out of Eheeya. So slow that Eheeya feels cared about, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with that. He forces another breathy laugh, wiggling his rear back to meet Retsarra’s hand.
“You said you’d fuck me, not make love to me.” He teases, and for a moment, he regrets his choice of words. With the woman Retsarra loves gone, of course he wouldn’t. Eheeya inhales, about to apologize, mentally kicking himself for his own intrusive thoughts making him insufferable.
But much to his surprise, Retsarra exhales what seems like a tense breath of restraint he was holding. Wordlessly, the hhetsarro picks up the pace, going deeper, using the pads of his fingertips to press up against Eheeya instead of curling them, still minding the claws.
It’s what Eheeya is far more used to. A means to an end, satisfaction for both. A way to add to the exhaustion in a pleasant way, so it may crash over him and lull him to sleep once they’re done. He doesn’t want to worry anymore. Or to think at all.
Every drag of Retsarra’s fingers against his prostate causes his breath to hitch and his tail to twitch. Eheeya presses his forehead against the arm rest, mouth hanging open, not hiding a single noise.
“I’ll be fine, baby. You wanna get down to business too, don’t ya?” The words spoken by Dancing Green are there, but the colorful intonation isn’t. The delivery is flat, hurried, desperate, his mind clearly set on one goal. He wants to get this over with, but he doesn’t want it to end. Likely having offended Retsarra, Eheeya wouldn’t even be surprised if he was kicked out after the man had his fill of him.
Wouldn’t be the first time either that happened.
“Right…” Retsarra breathes, removing his fingers obediently at the lackluster demand. Eheeya’s long ears perk up when he hears the crinkling of plastic, soon after ripped open. Closing his eyes and bracing himself against the sofa, he listens to Retsarra’s worked up breath, the sound of his necklace dangling as he moves, the sound akin to a wind chime, and the own thrumming of his heartbeat, so loud, so quick, for some reason.
He feels safe with Retsarra. Who wouldn’t? What a sweet man he is, so kind and cautious, always looking out for those around him. He’s so eager to help, no matter the situation, never putting himself first.
Maybe it’s exactly that which makes Eheeya so antsy. The fact that this jewel of a man could die so soon, and so many others with him.
Eheeya flinches when he feels something warm and slick against his hole, certainly bigger than the digits previously working him open. Retsarra noticed, it seems, but instead of inquiring about stopping here like the shetona expects, he presses a hand to Eheeya’s lower back, stroking where the fluffy hair leading down to his tail starts.
As if that wasn’t enough, Eheeya feels Retsarra shift on his knees behind him, his warm body pressed against him suddenly when he plants a kiss between his shoulder blades, their height difference making it difficult to go any higher..
Eheeya doesn’t even blame himself this time for the fact that his eyes begin to well up. He’s seriously glad Retsarra can’t see his face.
And Retsarra is glad Eheeya can’t see his.
He’s ashamed that it’s even come down to this, calling over Eheeya for comfort and then finding it in his body when that seriously wasn’t his intention. It doesn’t help that Eheeya seems so… put together despite everything. He can still joke around, keep up his confident nature despite the fatality surrounding them.
Retsarra envies it just as much as he thinks of it as inappropriate.
Eheeya eggs him on to be rougher, move faster, to just get to the point already, and Retsarra wonders why he didn’t just turn him down if he simply wants to get it over with.
But if Eheeya stops caring, why shouldn’t Retsarra, too? His head hurts, his eyes sting, his heart aches, but there’s a way to vent all of the pain out right there in front of him. He wants to tenderly spoil the man who’s so beautifully presented on all fours, feel him shudder under the gentle drag of his claws over unblemished skin and allow Retsarra to kiss and caress…
Maybe forgetting himself tonight will help to do so in the morning as well.
Grief-stricken still, Retsarra blinks away the tears accumulating in his eyes again. One hand keeps his cock steady when he pushes the tip into Eheeya, the other grabs ahold of the dancer’s waist.
And then he slams into him, knocking the air out of Eheeya’s lungs. His hips are flush against the shetona’s and he watches how his long ears flatten against his curly hair, how his nails grip the sofa. Part of him wants to do what he usually does (ask if his partner is alright, if he’s too rough, but he wouldn’t fuck into them like this under normal conditions), but Eheeya would just tell him off. Stop worrying, Retsarra tells himself. Do as Eheeya says, he probably deals with sadder suitors.
Still, he waits at least for a couple of seconds. Eheeya’s breath is ragged already, and it grows more hoarse when Retsarra starts moving. He holds the dancer by his waist, his height anything but a testament to his strength. He could toss Eheeya around on that couch however he wants, should he wish to, but he's content to stay as they are right now.
Eheeya still doesn’t hide his voice. The moans spill from his open mouth alongside every wet noise of skin slapping against skin. Retsarra himself has to grunt, adding it to the cacophony of sounds filling his apartment.
This feels good. Really good, being close to someone warm. Eheeya feels really good. He’s such a bright personality. If Retsarra ever sees the sun, he imagines it’ll feel as warm on his skin as Eheeya does.
“Eheeya…” Retsarra says his name in a sigh, closing his eyes, losing himself in the moment.
And Eheeya’s breath hitches, his toad-like eyes going wide in stark contrast to Retsarra allowing his to flutter shut. He has to cover his mouth, the pathetic little sound embarrassing even him.
When was the last time someone had said his name?
Not to call him over, not to talk to him casually, but with want and need. With something in their voice that feels like desire, his skin prickling with goosebumps. He feels again how his eyes sting, the tell-tale signs of tears soon to come. And this time he can’t keep them at bay, silently letting them fall to the cushion below. He hopes Retsarra doesn’t notice when it finally feels like he’s enjoying himself.
Eheeya swallows down a whimper and uncovers his mouth. “Retsarra… Retsar- rah!” He chokes on the last syllable, Retsarra’s pace growing into something relentless. He wants to return the favor, to make Retsarra feel warm and appreciated and seen, and so he says his name over and over, almost like a plea or a prayer.
His painted nails dig into the arm rest, vision blurring betwixt tears and his body being rocked with such force. Where a kiss was placed earlier, Eheeya can now feel sharp canines grazing his back. With every occasional call of his name he tenses, another set of tears wetting his cheeks and the sofa. It feels like too much for both of them, yet isn’t that exactly why they’re doing it?
Eheeya doesn’t want Retsarra to stop, for the other’s sake even more than his. He doesn’t mind his own cock uselessly bouncing between his legs while Retsarra takes what he wants - what he needs - and he wishes the stinging of his claws wouldn’t be such a bother, but…
They’re scratching, and Eheeya hisses. They’re digging into his skin harshly enough that he thinks they’ll leave marks for weeks to come. He’ll notice soon. Surely, he’ll notice soon, and the searing pain will go away.
But it doesn’t, and Eheeya curses himself for his low pain tolerance. He wants to fulfill his purpose to Retsarra tonight, but when he’s sure the scratches are bleeding, he speaks up.
“H-Hey, ‘sarra…”
Eheeya’s voice is so sweet. So delightfully messed up and defiled, and Retsarra likes to think it’s his doing. He loves being close to him, seeing him like this where no one else can watch. It makes him think of Eutrope’s legs shaking when she was pushing his head between them, or Hector losing his voice when Retsarra sat on his lap.
“Retsarra…”
Fuck, how he misses her.
“Retsarra…!”
Fuck, how he misses him.
“R-Retsarra! Ow!”
It’s when he hears a hiss of pain that he’s torn out of his frenzy, staring down at Eheeya with wide, bewildered eyes. “Your claws…” The Shetona clumsily bats at the wrists of the hands holding his narrow waist in a bruising grip, as best as he can from his position. And, indeed, his claws are causing the unblemished skin to dent and break, partially having scratched it open even. In an instant, he lets go of Eheeya.
“Shit,” he whispers, heart dropping into his stomach, “Eheeya, I- Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to-”
“I know, ‘s okay,” Eheeya assures, trying to catch his breath, “My fault, demandin’ you to fuck me. Hah...”
“That doesn’t mean I get to hurt you.” Retsarra runs a hand through his hair, gripping at his scalp as he ponders his next course of action. His eyes run down Eheeya’s pretty back, watching his shoulders rise and fall for a moment before looking at the damage. He winces, seeing the bright red streaks standing out from the dark skin. None are bad enough to be called a wound, but he still caused a couple to bleed.
Eheeya tries to wiggle away from him, Retsarra just then noticing he hasn’t even pulled out. “Ah, sorry, sorry, I’m sorry…!” He quickly draws back, mentally slapping himself for not doing that more carefully when Eheeya whines, and does his best not to stare at Eheeya’s hole holding his shape. He’s feeling a strange mix of horny, guilty and confused.
Put simply, he feels pretty awful.
Eheeya slowly sits up without Retsarra’s help, the hhetsarro paralyzed by the fear that touching him could elicit a flinch. If his touch ever makes someone recoil, Retsarra might have to leave on a pilgrimage of enlightenment and self discovery. He wants to help him with the scratches, at least get them disinfected, but leaving right now would feel… wrong.
When he finally situates himself, he pulls his legs close and keeps his head turned away, aggressively rubbing at his eyes. Color leaves Retsarra’s face when he realizes that Eheeya is crying.
“Did… Did I make you…?”
Eheeya pauses his movements, freezing. His ears stand upright, alert, and he doesn’t figure out how to explain to Retsarra in just a few seconds that those are happy tears… in a way.
Sniffling, he finally tilts his head to look at him and shakes his head. “It’s nothing,” he says with a forced smile.
Retsarra doesn’t look like he believes him. Eheeya doesn’t think he sounded convincing.
Then they sit there in silence, contemplating what they’ve done.
Retsarra thinks about having hurt Eheeya, having used him. Eheeya thinks about failing to keep Retsarra’s mind on a simpler thing.
Eheeya’s lip wobbles. He can’t cry again, not here. So he gathers his clothes, excuses himself and disappears into the bathroom before Retsarra can react.
Retsarra stares at the door, dumbfounded. He goes limp against the pillows lining the back of the sofa and sighs, covering his face with his hands. At his behest, Eheeya came over, and he ended up dumping his issues onto the man mentally and physically both. Some guy he is…
And now his chest feels even tighter than before. Either he remains alone, or drives everyone who dares to get close away.
…Guess he’ll have to remain a lone wolf.