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It's an unremarkable night like any other when Phainon finally brings it up.
The curtains are drawn to block out the ever-present light from the Dawn Device, bathing their room in a muted orange glow.
Except, it’s not exactly an unremarkable night, because to Phainon, every night with Khaslana feels like a waking dream. He’s long-since accepted this reality of theirs, stopped questioning Khaslana’s existence and started appreciating this man who seemed to never want to leave his side.
It was only inevitable that they made it official; turned their longing stares and stolen touches into something real. Something theirs.
But intimacy is still a trembling foundation to them, unsteady and unsure. Something they’re not used to pursuing with someone else.
Phainon had asked, once, why Khaslana wanted to be near him so often but didn’t seem to really ever want to touch him. If maybe he just didn’t like public displays of affection.
Khaslana had only blinked, tilted his head, and said, Of course I do. All the time. Then, to Phainon's apparent surprise, went on to say: I would brand you with my handprints if I could, to show everyone that you’re mine.
Phainon didn’t question him again after that.
And from then on, touches that felt juvenile but pleasant all the same, like hand-holding and linking fingers, became the norm.
The first step into intimacy was taken, the line was breached, and gradually they got more comfortable. Started sharing casual kisses that led into full-on make out sessions completed with heavy petting or grinding.
But, despite that, despite the shared heat that built until it was near-bursting between them, they never went any further.
Phainon’s not insecure about their relationship, nor does he question Khaslana's devotion to him. But he does have to wonder why they haven’t taken that final step; if maybe it’s simply something Khaslana isn’t interested in with him— which, would be fine!
But, Phainon thinks about it, and thinks about it. Probably a bit too much. And so he finally asks.
He’s sitting up in bed against the wall of their shared room (it was originally just Phainon’s, but they kept ending up sleeping in this bed together or getting ready for the day together so often that Khaslana just decided to essentially move in), Khaslana’s head in his lap while he presumably meditates, content in their comfortable silence. The slate he was reading stopped being interesting once Phainon got lost in his head staring down at his lover.
Phainon sets the slate aside, and takes a slow breath. “Khaslana?”
Khaslana’s brow twitches, a small furrow forming from his lost concentration, but his eyes are soft when he meets Phainon’s gaze.
Phainon’s fingers twitch against the sheets, raise to brush aside Khaslana’s bangs. He catches Phainon’s wrist and guides it to his lips, kisses his palm.
Phainon’s cheeks flush, just the slightest bit, at the easy affection Khaslana loves to give out like nothing when they’re alone.
“Yes?” comes his voice, low and intimate.
“I was thinking…” Phainon flips his hand, starts fiddling with Khaslana’s fingers— fidgeting. Khaslana lets him do as he pleases without complaint, though he seems slightly more alert.
Phainon swallows, eyes glued to their joined hands. “Um… I was thinking that, uh, we haven’t…” He rubs at his forehead with his free hand, fighting the heat creeping up his neck. This stuttering is pathetic, he’s a grown man.
“We haven't had sex. Yet.” Phainon, unable to help himself, tries to get a quick glance of Khaslana's reaction. His face is neutral and unreadable, but he’s staring right at him.
Then he starts to sit up, and, embarrassed, Phainon lets him go, instead fiddling with the fabric of his pants. Khaslana doesn’t go far, just turns to properly face Phainon and crosses his legs.
“We haven't,” he says, calm. Prompting.
Phainon purses his lips.
“…Did you want to?” Khaslana continues, when Phainon stays silent.
Phainon nods. Drags a hand through his hair and tips his head back against the wall. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to, or not. If you were waiting for me, or… if that just isn’t something you’re interested in.” His hand falls back to his lap.
“I am,” Khaslana says simply. Phainon blinks at the ceiling, then at Khaslana. “Very interested.”
Phainon’s cheeks go red. “Oh. Okay.” He clears his throat. “Have you…? Already? With someone else?”
Khaslana hums. “In past memories.” Phainon nods, but doesn’t have time to be weirdly disappointed about that answer before Khaslana’s eyes go soft.
“With past you’s.”
Phainon’s head whips up. “With m-me’s?!”
Khaslana nods, just once. “But I haven’t.” Frowns a bit. “Technically.”
Phainon makes a weak, ahhh sound, barely audible and completely accidental.
Khaslana eyes him. “Have you?”
Phainon huffs. Yeah, right. “Do you really have to ask?”
“Of course I do,” Khaslana says, serious as always. “I tend to prefer not making assumptions.”
Phainon shakes his head, both out of fond exasperation and in answer. “No. I haven't.”
Phainon swears he hears Khaslana mutter good under his breath, but he’s moving before Phainon can question it.
He scoots closer, sets his hand just above Phainon’s knee. Phainon's eyes dart up to Khaslana’s, and he sees the question in them before it’s spoken aloud.
“Did you want to have sex tonight?” Phainon’s cheeks, which had finally cooled down, start heating up again. “Is that why you asked?”
“Yeah.” Phainon swallows. “But we don’t have to. Right now. If, uh, you don’t—”
“I do,” Khaslana interrupts. He leans in until their breaths intermingle, slides his hand up to the crease of Phainon’s thigh, effectively shutting him up.
Khaslana's breath trembles against his lips. Whether he’s nervous, excited, or something else, Phainon doesn’t know. Whatever the reason, it has Phainon’s hand raising, caressing the hair at Khaslana’s nape and sliding into it, cradling the back of his head.
“I want to,” Phainon repeats. Licks his lips, catching the bottom of Khaslana’s along the way. “Please.”
Khaslana nods. Leans into him and slots their lips together with a tilt of his head.
The kiss is familiar, a warmth that settles in Phainon’s bones like coming home. His shoulders relax, and he sinks into it, other hand joining the first and tangling in Khaslana's hair.
Their lips meet and separate repeatedly with slick sounds that send heat slithering down Phainon’s spine to settle in his gut. Khaslana’s tongue slides along his own, sparks the heat into a simmering flame. Phainon’s thumbs settle in the dips right behind the corners of Khaslana’s jaw, feeling the muscles jump as their kissing heats up, while his is slowly rubbing back and forth against the inside of Phainon’s thigh.
They eventually end up scooting up the bed to the pillows, Khaslana guiding Phainon’s movements with purposeful palms and a soothing tongue. Phainon finds himself on his back, pressed down with a hand on his chest, and Khaslana kneeling above him.
Small, muffled moans keep escaping from Phainon and into the kiss, sounds that get echoed with Khaslana’s increasingly heavy breaths. The excitement that they’re finally doing something more sets Phainon’s nerves alight, makes him sensitive.
When Khaslana’s fingers curl into the hem of his shirt, his body jolts as though ticklish, but he quickly pulls back to let Khaslana tug the shirt off. It gets deposited onto the floor, followed eventually by both of their pants.
They stop there, though, return to the safety of kissing while Khaslana presses Phainon’s head deeper into the pillow and explores his mouth without restraint. At this point, Phainon is well on his way to full hardness. He can’t help it.
Finally, they pull back, panting heated breaths between them. Phainon blinks away the dizziness in his eyes, taking in the beautiful sight of Khaslana above him.
Phainon still marvels at the large gouges running through Khaslana's otherworldly body, at the golden blood that resembles molten metal flowing through them, shimmering and glowing.
He traces the edges of the scars with his fingers, feels the shiver that travels beneath Khaslana's skin in response.
Khaslana lowers himself to his elbows, caging Phainon in with his body, and captures his lips once more. Eyes fluttered shut, Phainon uses touch to explore the body atop his, gently feeling across the various cracks and marks. Heat bubbles just below, carefully contained within renewed flesh and carved muscle.
Khaslana's body fascinates him in the same way it gives him butterflies. There's just so much to learn about it, so much to explore and be amazed by. Phainon will never get sick of touching it.
“You're so beautiful,” Phainon mumbles half-unintelligibly, chasing the taste of heat and lust further into Khaslana's mouth. He makes a low noise in response, shoulders flexing briefly as he adjusts. It’s unsure if he even understood Phainon, but that doesn’t really matter.
Khaslana breaks away from the kiss, not resting for a second before he’s ducking to Phainon’s neck and mouthing at his skin, kissing across his throat. Phainon tilts his head to make room, and it’s when Khaslana starts sucking a surprisingly gentle mark over his pulse that their hips meet, a mindless thrust that sends sparks skittering up Phainon's spine.
He gasps, and immediately Khaslana does it again. Cradles his nape and kisses over his tattoo just below where the choker typically sits, down to his collarbone and back up. All the while, his hips grind against Phainon’s over and over, slow and purposeful. And while it’s not direct skin to skin, the friction is still incredible— has heat licking through Phainon’s veins, pooling everywhere they touch and every place Khaslana kisses.
The next moan that leaves Phainon gets muffled right into Khaslana’s mouth as his tongue pushes right past, as if trying to lick the sound out straight from the source.
It’s as Khaslana’s hand starts sliding down Phainon’s chest and past his stomach that Phainon suddenly freezes with realization.
He pushes Khaslana back by his shoulder just enough to speak. “I don’t, ah—” Phainon pants, whining when Khaslana’s hips stop. “I don't have— ngh!”
Phainon is promptly cut off by a very warm hand suddenly sliding into his underwear and wrapping around his cock. He does not care about whatever he was just saying, actually.
Khaslana strokes him with what limited movement he’s allowed from within Phainon’s underwear, something slow and teasing, making Phainon squirm and arch up into him.
“Don't worry,” Khaslana rasps, and leans over to the side. Phainon blinks open eyes hazy with pleasure and sees him returning with a bottle of shimmering, lavender-tinted liquid in a little glass bottle.
Phainon’s eyes widen. “When did you—”
Khaslana sets it down somewhere in the pillows to Phainon’s left, and then removes his other hand to start pulling his underwear down. Phainon happily assists, lifting his hips and biting his lip when his cock is freed, slick and flushed red.
“It's not lube,” Khaslana says, as he tosses Phainon’s underwear aside and then kicks off his own. Phainon gulps at the happy trail he manages to glimpse before his line of sight is cut off by Khaslana returning to his spot. “It's oil.”
Phainon blinks dumbly, brain tripping a bit on itself to catch up to their conversation. “Oh.” Is all he says.
Khaslana gives him an amused look that melts into something more serious. He holds Phainon’s gaze, and despite the blotchy flush to his cheeks and disheveled state of his hair, he looks remarkably put-together.
“How do you want to do this?” he asks, and gives Phainon time to properly clear his head and answer. “I’m fine with anything.”
How…? Phainon blinks. He means… Oh. Oh.
“Ah,” Phainon says, intelligently. He thinks of the brief wet heat of Khaslana’s fist around his cock, thinks about that oil, Khaslana’s strong hands, thinks about clawing at Khaslana’s back and feeling him pumping him—
“You!” Phainon squeaks out. “Uh— In- in me. You top.”
Khaslana searches his gaze with a tiny frown for a long few silent seconds. Phainon doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he tries to convey whatever that is with his wide eyes.
Eventually, Khaslana nods, face going soft again. He pecks Phainon’s lips. “Alright.”
Phainon hears the pop of something being uncorked, and then Khaslana leans back on his haunches. In one hand, he’s re-corking the bottle of oil shut. In the other, he’s rubbing the transparent liquid between his fingers.
He sets it back down who-knows-where, and scoots back. Puts his dry hand on the back of Phainon’s thigh and spreads him. Phainon goes terribly red, mouth clamping shut, not resisting the movement.
Khaslana keeps his eyes on Phainon’s face. Kisses his knee, rests his cheek there, and then Phainon feels something slippery and wet touch his hole. Instinctually, he tenses, but Khaslana just holds his finger there, patient.
Khaslana's eyes are basically black holes, with the way they feel like they’re consuming him. His head is tilted down just the slightest bit, so that he’s looking through his lashes up Phainon’s body, stray hairs curling against his temples and falling past his cheeks.
The darkness in his eyes screams of a devotion that is making Phainon slightly lightheaded.
“I'll go slow,” Khaslana says, “just relax.”
Phainon shakes his head. “I-It’s not that.” His leg twitches inwards, just the slightest bit, but Khaslana's grip shifts easily to press it back open.
“I've fingered myself before,” Phainon admits. “You don’t have to be gentle. It's just… been a while.”
Khaslana's face does something quite fascinating just then: all the muscles seem to go slack except for his jaw, which clenches visibly. His touch remains gentle, but he gulps, and his eyes refocus on Phainon with a fire that razes straight through flesh and right to bone.
“I see,” he says, and oh Titans, his voice has gone throaty. “I would like to be gentle anyhow, if you’d let me.”
Phainon’s lips part. “I—” He truly doesn’t know what he even hoped to say. His heart races in his chest, and he swallows. “Okay.”
Khaslana's lashes flutter like he’s relieved by that response. He kisses Phainon’s knee again, then a little further down, and finally inserts his finger.
Phainon wasn’t lying when he said it’s been a while. He lost track of the days; hasn’t really been counting them like he used to since Khaslana came into his life. So a while is his best quantification of it. And yet, it doesn’t hurt. Not at all. Khaslana's finger slides all the way to the third knuckle in one smooth push.
“Wow,” Phainon mumbles. Khaslana crooks his finger, and Phainon’s hips jerk. Oh, hell yes. Eyes meeting, blazing, Phainon says, “More.” Khaslana obliges easily.
Phainon loses track of time after that. He knows somewhere along the way, when Khaslana was two fingers deep, he nudged against Phainon’s prostate and the noise that left Phainon's mouth was subsequently muffled by his own hand.
After that, though, a syrup started spreading through his veins, and by the time Khaslana's back hunched over him and prying his lips open with his tongue, there’s three fingers pumping steadily in and out of him.
Khaslana must have poured more oil down there, because it sounds soaked, squelching with each thrust and downright obscene. Khaslana’s fingers are long, searching and pressing deep inside him to draw out as much pleasure as possible.
But there’s something else Phainon wants. Because while Khaslana’s fingers are absolutely glorious, and it’s kind of driving Phainon crazy how his bicep is visibly flexing with each movement, he wants more.
He wants Khaslana. Closer, more, something rough and frenzied. Drowning in the passion.
Pulling back just enough for Phainon to gasp in much-needed breaths, Khaslana asks, “Are you close?”
Phainon somehow manages to nod and shake his head at the same time, eyes squeezed shut. Then, a sweat-slicked hand wraps around his cock, and they fly open, immediately finding Khaslana's focused face hovering above his own.
Khaslana's hand doesn’t tease. He gathers the pre beading at Phainon’s tip, spreads it down the length, and then starts jerking him off in firm, quick strokes. Phainon tosses his head back, moaning openly, whining on the next breath.
The fire in his gut crests into something approaching bliss, waves crashing into him at dizzying intensity, but still, he writhes, trying to hold off.
“I— Khaslana, wait, wait—” His words are split clean through with a moan when Khaslana doesn’t relent, and instead starts licking up the sweat streaking across Phainon's flushed chest.
“What do you need?” he asks, over the slick sounds from below and Phainon’s panting from above. Even though he asked, he doesn’t pause or even slow what he’s doing, instead forming a tight circle right at Phainon’s head and jerking him where he’s most sensitive.
Phainon’s next moan resembles a sob. “Need you inside—” he gasps.
Khaslana groans against his skin, sucks a mark over his frantic heartbeat. “Give me one,” he rasps. “And then I will. I promise.”
Phainon frantically shakes his head, but his hips speak for him, fucking up into Khaslana’s fist and then down onto his fingers.
“I know you can,” Khaslana says, voice all gravel and lust. “Come for me, Phainon.”
He twists his wrist, combines it with swipes up and over Phainon’s head, working him over quick and dirty, and Phainon can do nothing but obey.
His moans crescendo with the heat inside of him until they finally rasp off into silence as his cock jerks and he comes, back arched and mouth dropped open.
Static roars in his head, colors exploding behind his eyelids, and he comes in pearly arcs onto his stomach and up to his chest. Khaslana milks him through it, relentless, slowing to a stop only when Phainon starts twitching away from his hands with a whimper.
He carefully pulls his fingers out and gently releases Phainon’s cock, who shivers at the empty feeling. He's left panting, eyes just barely open, and Khaslana immediately crowds him.
“Good boy,” he praises, breathless. “You did so good.” He kisses all across Phainon's face, whispering more praises as he goes, and the heat in Phainon diffuses to a pleasant simmer that settles in his chest bright and buoyant.
Phainon brings his arms up and wraps them around Khaslana's shoulders, keeping him close. Khaslana seems to have no issue with this, petting up and down Phainon’s flanks with messy hands. Phainon couldn’t care less.
Eventually, Khaslana does pull back, surveying the state he’s left Phainon in with what looks like satisfaction in his eyes.
His golden gaze traces the lines of cum streaking across Phainon’s torso, and he sighs. “Messy,” he chides, and before Phainon can snark something back, Khaslana leans down, and…
He starts licking up the cum.
Phainon’s entire body jolts. “Wh— Khaslana?!” Khaslana licks up another stripe, as if Phainon never even spoke.
“At least use a—” Phainon shivers at the next drag of his tongue. “At least use a towel!”
Despite Phainon's protests, the sight of Khaslana gradually making his way down his stomach while cleaning up the cum he caused to be there… Phainon gulps.
He’s getting hard again.
Every pass of that tongue, each time it retreats back so he can swallow his mouthful, licking up Phainon’s cum like it’s cream, stokes a new flame in Phainon's gut.
By the time Khaslana reaches Phainon’s dick, it’s at a solid semi-chub, and Khaslana licks that too— just a quick one, right at the tip, like he couldn’t help himself. Phainon knows he feels how it twitches momentarily against his tongue.
Khaslana sits back and licks his lips, as if chasing residue. He hums. Swallows. “Better than I thought,” he mumbles to himself, and while Phainon’s soul is busy leaving his body, he plants his hands either side of Phainon’s head and smirks.
It’s a very dangerous expression to have hovering above you, especially while naked. Especially from Khaslana. Phainon feels something hot and heavy poke his thigh, and freezes. Realizes that, Hold on. Khaslana didn’t come yet, did he?
“I promised,” Khaslana purrs. His hand leaves Phainon’s peripheral, and he follows its path as it travels down, down… until it wraps around Khaslana's cock.
Phainon swallows back excessive saliva, eyeing the way his hand fits perfectly around the thick length. Darts his eyes back up to Khaslana's, sees him watching him.
Wordlessly, he spreads his legs further to make room for Khaslana, lifts them, thighs pressing back— presenting himself.
Khaslana's eyes go sharp, molten. Phainon’s body starts burning up all over again.
“I'm waiting,” Phainon says back, attempting something seductive, proud of the fact that his voice doesn’t shake.
Their gazes hold, a silent, tense second.
Phainon doesn’t know who moves first, but it hardly matters, because soon Khaslana is kissing him like he wants to devour him, and there’s an ecstasy building in Phainon.
Yes, this is what he wanted. This fire, this passion.
Phainon lets it consume him. Gladly.
It builds between them, into something dizzying, something that Phainon knows will pull him apart only to put him back together.
But when Khaslana’s freshly oiled cockhead actually meets Phainon’s hole, he pauses there. Pulls back, both of them panting, a string of saliva connecting them before it breaks with a swipe of the tongue.
Phainon’s arms tighten where they’re settled across Khaslana’s shoulders, his fingers digging into the muscle there.
“Khaslana?” he asks, confused.
Khaslana blows out a breath. Continues breathing that way; slow, controlled, like he’s trying to calm himself down.
Phainon, concerned now, slides an arm down to cradle Khaslana's cheek. “Hey, is something wrong?”
Khaslana’s eyes shut, and he nuzzles into Phainon’s palm. But he shakes his head. “No,” he adds on, "I just…”
His eyes steal the breath from Phainon’s lungs when he next opens them. The worried furrow disappears from his face.
Khaslana's eyes are so… earnest. There's a low glint to them, something devoted and gentle. He gazes at Phainon with a love that breaks Phainon's chest open.
“I want to do this right,” Khaslana says, quiet between them. “Let me do this right.”
Phainon merely nods, trusting. Relaxes back into the bed. “Okay.” He slides his hand back to Khaslana’s shoulders, loosens the hold, thumb pressed into the divot of a crack.
The energy shifts, in that moment. The lust stays, but the franticness falls away, leaves Phainon with a quiet that has his hairs standing on end.
When he thought of his first time with Khaslana, it was always passion-filled, all heat and sweat and lines scratched down backs, lips bitten bloody.
But this… this tenderness is different. Not what he expected from a supernova like Khaslana.
But… this Khaslana, the real one who’s hot and alive beneath Phainon’s fingertips, maintains eye contact as he slowly, oh-so-slowly, lines up his cock and presses forward into him.
Once the head pops through, it’s a slick, easy glide in. Khaslana’s hand leaves his shaft to grip Phainon’s hip while he presses in. It doesn't hurt, not even a little bit, but the painstakingly slow pace causes Phainon to feel each centimeter as it enters him.
Thick and hot, devastatingly so. Phainon feels like he’s being cooked from the inside, but Titans is it an addicting feeling. Khaslana fills him up perfectly, exactly as he had hoped.
Phainon exhales something shaky, a trembling moan that Khaslana echoes with his own strained sound. Once he’s halfway sheathed, he finally looks away, down to where they’re connected. The lines of his body shift, something Phainon can’t really explain, but something he can see happen in real time.
Khaslana gives a little thrust, just to push himself a bit further in, and then his eyes drag up and away, back to Phainon’s face. His chest heaves, and his cheeks are gradually turning red.
Phainon wets his lips in the silence, blinks when Khaslana slowly reaches up and unwinds Phainon’s fingers from his hair that Phainon does not remember putting there.
With a hand on each forearm, Khaslana lowers them to the bed. One is let go at Phainon’s side, free to grip the sheets, and the other is pressed back next to Phainon's head. Kept there.
Khaslana hovers over him again. His eyes keep Phainon trapped, caught in his gaze like honey. Turning his breaths shaky.
Khaslana holds him there, seconds ticking on, and when it feels like something’s on the verge of breaking, his hips meet Phainon’s ass with a final snap, plunging the rest of his cock fully inside in one smooth thrust. Phainon gasps, but Khaslana doesn’t move any more beyond that.
His grip tightens around Phainon’s wrist. He moans, something rough and breathy. A fine tremble starts up in his shoulders, the muscles in his back. Like he’s desperately holding himself back.
Phainon wonders why Khaslana insisted on going so slow if he’s doing so much to restrain himself.
Phainon wouldn’t have minded if he was rough. Would have moaned all the same if Khaslana had flipped him over and filled him with one thrust and no mercy. Held him down and fucked him until Phainon was crying out, overwhelmed and desperate for release.
He thinks that would have aligned with his expectations. With this version he had in his head of a Khaslana who took control during sex and left bruises where he gripped, burns where he touched.
But, Khaslana doesn’t hold him down, not really. He simply… holds him. His grip is firm but it’s grounding, not controlling, and it’s so different from what Phainon expected that he’s starting to feel dizzy.
Khaslana presses Phainon’s wrist into the mattress with one hand, and strokes his cheek with the other. Holds himself where he is, fully seated within Phainon, thick and throbbing.
He murmurs, voice rough, “You okay?” and doesn’t move until Phainon slowly nods. And even then it starts slow, careful, golden eyes intently watching every twitch of Phainon’s face, every crack in his expression.
Phainon realizes then, as Khaslana soaks up his reactions like it’s his sustenance to live, that it’s dizzying, being seen.
Being cared for, like this. Handled as though he’ll break when his entire life has been spent pretending he’s indestructible.
Khaslana knows it doesn’t hurt, but he’s gentle with it anyways. Just because he… wants to be. I would like to be gentle anyhow, he had said earlier.
The thing is, Khaslana doesn’t hold Phainon like he’s weak. He holds him like his strength isn’t all he is, like there’s something to cherish beneath the façades he hides behind. Where he’s at his ugliest.
Khaslana rocks gently in and out of him, barely pulling out before he’s thrusting back in again, a slow grind aided by leftover oil and the previous meticulous stretching from Khaslana’s fingers. His hand releases Phainon’s wrist, slides up until they’re palm to palm, and laces their fingers together.
Phainon’s chest jumps on something vulnerable, a small sound of ruin. Those hands have brought him pleasure that whited out his mind, that had him moaning and crying out not thirty minutes ago, and yet, this feels immensely more ruining.
Phainon’s other arm flies up to Khaslana’s shoulders, wraps around and tugs him close, until their eye contact breaks in favor of a slow, sensual kiss.
Khaslana thrusts deep, drags a winded sound from Phainon’s lips, muffled into the mouth on his. Stays there, as deep as he can get, until the ache in Phainon’s hips becomes irrelevant, until fire starts licking up his veins. Has him squirming.
Phainon pulls away from the kiss, fingers dug into the muscle cording through Khaslana’s back, panting. Khaslana looks his fill, all across Phainon’s face and down his flushed chest, to where his cock is leaking onto his stomach. He drags his hand down to it, sidelines it to grab Phainon’s waist instead.
The heat in Phainon throbs, sends his pulse pounding. He bites back a whimper, hitches his legs up higher on Khaslana's waist. The stillness is killing him. There’s no friction to seek, and his hands are occupied— he doesn’t think he could let go even if he wanted to.
Khaslana watches his face, the way his body keeps twitching, movements cut off before they could become something. He's still holding himself back.
Phainon doesn’t know what to do with the heat that settles over them like fog. With this lust that has nowhere to go, this frenzy in his veins that can’t be settled with a battle, or a clashing of blades.
He’s trapped here, beneath a softness that expects nothing, and gives everything.
This gentleness is undoing him.
“Khas…” Phainon squeezes their connected hands, heat rising from every corner of him, pooling in his cheeks and his belly. “I—”
“Do you need something?” Khaslana asks, his voice a tender rumble. His eyes a pool of gold, bright and devoted. He kisses beneath Phainon’s eyes, both of them, and nuzzles his temple.
Says into his ear, “All you have to do is ask. Anything.” Then, pulling back, “I'm yours.”
Phainon’s breath trembles out of him. He swallows, wets his lips. Be rough, he wants to plead, Fuck me like you’re trying to break me, and have no mercy.
Please, give me what I'm used to.
He says none of it. Bounces his eyes between each of Khaslana’s, cataloguing the shades of gold, the way his hair falls soft across his cheeks, how he’s blinking slow but breathing fast.
“…Faster,” Phainon finally says, bashfully. Parts his lips again, but no sound makes it past. And that’s it.
Khaslana gives him a smile, something small and fond that softens his eyes, and it feels like a reward. He shifts his grip on Phainon’s waist, pulls his hips back. “Of course.” And obeys.
It’s not a frantic pace, not something rushed and overtaken by lust, desperate for release. Khaslana fucks him like he’s making love to him, and that’s what truly scrambles Phainon’s brain. Khaslana’s hips meet his ass with an audible sound, but it doesn’t sting like a slap, merely burns his ears and has him fighting the urge to squeeze his eyes shut.
Instead, he tips his head back against the pillow with a groan that loosens from his chest louder than he meant it to. There's no time to even be embarrassed about it; Khaslana speeds up at the sound, chasing it, trying to drag more of them out of Phainon’s throat.
It’s good, dangerously good, even at this moderate pace; Khaslana’s big, but not uncomfortably so, and warm. Every centimeter of him. And it’s wet and obscene, every thrust bringing a squelching slick as oil and sweat coalesce. Phainon’s already sweating from their combined heat as it climbs higher and higher. It’s like Khaslana knows exactly how to drive Phainon crazy, how to fuck him to draw the most pleasure out.
And maybe he does. Maybe memories of those past lives are filled with loving Phainon, of learning and relearning his body, what makes him tick. Every spot he’s most sensitive.
Khaslana fucks him with devoted, dedicated precision, like Phainon is his entire world. Like this moment they’re sharing is the most important one of his life. It sends Phainon’s heart pounding in his chest, loud in his veins, trying to escape his body and tell Khaslana I’m yours, I think I always have been.
It pulses throughout his entire body, echoes between him and the cock inside of him. The hand at his hip is burning, feels hot enough to brand, but the hold isn’t rough; it probably won’t even bruise. Phainon wants it to. Not for the pain, but for the reminder.
But something inside of himself stops him from requesting that, from telling Khaslana to be rougher. Perhaps there always was a part of him that longed to be treated like something precious— to be taken care of.
Whatever it is, it’s turning his thoughts to goo, a thick molasses and a film of heat that perspires across his skin. Makes him feel lit by fire. The cock in his guts stokes the flames, hot like iron, pulsing like lava.
Khaslana leans down, folds Phainon into himself and then adjusts his legs in the next second— attentive, caring— and suddenly his cock hits even deeper. Spears Phainon in just the right spot, has him crying out into open air.
"How's it feel?” Khaslana asks, now panting, and a drop of sweat from his brow vaporizes as it slides down his temple. His hand, still leaving trails of fire in its wake, drags up and down Phainon’s side, feeling the heaving planes of his stomach.
“Good,” Phainon mewls, “‘s good, it feels good, don’t stop—”
Khaslana shushes him, presses a kiss to his throat. “I won't,” he assures, and wraps a burning fist around Phainon’s cock.
Immediately, Phainon’s hips thrust into it with a moan, Khaslana’s palm somehow already damp for reasons Phainon can’t care to question right now. Khaslana doesn’t stop him, doesn’t tease, just starts steadily stroking him at the same pace of his thrusts.
Unintentionally, the dual stimulation makes Phainon clench down on Khaslana inside him, who hisses through his teeth, tightens his fist and starts jerking Phainon quicker, until the wet shlick shlick sounds join the symphony.
Phainon’s moans go high-pitched, whined, humiliating if he cared even a little bit about that right now.
As it is, he barely manages to speak through his moans and the increasing pace of Khaslana's thrusts.
“Is- is it good for— ah— for you?” he stutters, interrupted occasionally by punched-out moans.
Maybe Phainon wants the praise, maybe he wants Khaslana to say he feels good, or maybe he just wants to hear a real moan from Khaslana, wants him to stop holding himself back.
Khaslana delivers on all fronts. He tightens the fist around Phainon's cock and speeds up the pace of his hips, until it feels like he’s drilling into Phainon's guts, trying to carve out a space for himself. Each time, he pulls back until he’s more than three quarters out, and thrusts back in as deep as possible; fills him to the brim and fucks him breathless. Starts being rough with it too, just a bit, their skin slapping together and the wooden frame creaking beneath them.
“It’s incredible,” Khaslana says, voice gone fervent and breathless, “You’re— fuck— you’re perfect.”
He captures Phainon’s lips in an open-mouthed kiss, growls his pleasure into Phainon’s mouth until his head goes fuzzy. The slapping gets louder.
“Like you were made for me,” Khaslana groans, pulls back to meet Phainon’s eyes. “You were. Just for me. Mine.”
His hips stutter, and finally there’s a crack in his expression; his brows pinch, his lips spit-slick and parted. His eyes are smoldering embers that Phainon struggles to meet before they’re abruptly clenched closed.
Khaslana’s rhythm stumbles, for a good few seconds, before he seems to wrangle himself together and his eyes fly back open. He adjusts himself, just the slightest, continues even faster than before, and the next thrust hits dead-center on Phainon’s prostate.
And the next, and the next. Sparks of white-hot pleasure bloom in Phainon’s gut with each thrust, send him gasping. Khaslana’s cock pulses in time with his heartbeat, spreads a heat through him that melts into something frenzied.
Phainon's moans are… perhaps a bit too loud, but not a single cell in his body cares, and neither does Khaslana, who moans right back. Like their pleasure is a feedback loop that never ends.
Khaslana’s expression screws up. “You're gorgeous,” he whimpers, voice breaking.
The sound of it sends a shiver traveling down Phainon's overheated body. He clenches around the cock pistoning in and out of him, and Khaslana whimpers again, wounded, like it was dragged out of his chest.
“I'm so close,” Phainon gasps. The grip he has on their joined hands is turning white-knuckled, and Khaslana holds back just as hard, his other hand stroking Phainon root to tip with a renewed fervency.
There’s no escape from this heat that’s consuming every inch of them, but it’s the closest to heaven Phainon’s ever felt.
“I l-love you,” Phainon cries, eyes hot but tears not yet formed. Khaslana nods before Phainon’s even done speaking. His peak is approaching rapidly, and the brief thought of Khaslana pulling out to finish sets his nerves ablaze with panic. “Come in— ah! nnh, fuck— come inside!”
Khaslana's lashes flutter, and there his head goes again, not stopping, nodding even faster.
“Anything for you.” He sounds like a man at prayer, like he’s making a promise that will transcend lifetimes. Severe and devoted, as if he’d break and build himself over and over again if only it was for Phainon.
“Anything,” Khaslana repeats, mindless but a promise in every word. “Anything, anything.”
The heat in Phainon boils over, seeps through his veins into his bones, pulses through him like a second heartbeat. His moans go pitchy, hitching in his chest and cracking through the middle. Khaslana pounds into him like he’s trying to fuse them, but he’s holding Phainon so devastatingly tender. There’s only love.
Tears do form now, dripping down Phainon’s cheeks as soon as his lashes can no longer hold their weight. In the end, he isn’t able to get the words out as he crests the peak and plummets over it.
It's with a sob that Phainon finally comes, Khaslana’s name in his mouth, arching and writhing on Khaslana's cock, scoring golden lines down his heaving back.
Khaslana's thrusts turn sloppy at the sensation of Phainon falling apart around and beneath him, rapidly approaching his own release and chasing Phainon’s cries and wordless pleas.
“I love you too,” Khaslana gasps with the last of his breath, before he slams in as deep as he can and spills right into Phainon’s ass as promised, hot and thick. “I love you, I love you, I love—”
He thrusts a few more times to drag it out, prolong both their orgasms, pumping his seed even deeper. Phainon’s entire body fills with a static tingling that sends his ears ringing and his vision whitening. It feels like it never ends, and he floats there, weightless, warm all over from the inside out, anchored only by the hand clenched tightly in his that refuses to let go.
He comes down gradually. Feeling fades into his limbs, fingers- and toes-first, and he blinks heavy eyes open to find there’s a body slumped onto his chest. Thick, warm arms are wrapped around his back, so tightly that the hands are almost on either side of his ribs.
Khaslana's head is on his chest, right above his heart, listening to the slowing pulse, breathing slow and deep. Phainon has no idea how long he ascended to the heavens for, if Khaslana’s fallen asleep, but he lifts a slightly numb hand to card through his hair all the same.
At the touch, the head jerks upwards, and Phainon blinks in place of a startle. Ah, not asleep, then.
Khaslana doesn’t say anything, just darts his eyes between each of Phainon’s, as if checking for lucidity. Phainon offers him a sleepy, sated smile, and Khaslana relaxes with a sigh, chin pillowed on Phainon’s pecs.
“Damn,” Phainon says, testing his voice, finding his throat dry but intact. His voice? …Not so much. He sounds like he just sobbed for a few hours straight. He clears his throat, tries again. Stops when he spots the smile on Khaslana's face.
“What?” Phainon questions, too tired to do much else other than pet at Khaslana’s blond hair. He works on combing the bangs back from his handsome, still-smiling face.
“Can’t a man smile because he’s happy?”
“Mm.” Phainon’s nose scrunches. His thumb traces a path across Khaslana's forehead, now revealed. “Not this man.”
Khaslana’s smile only widens, basking in Phainon’s affection like a cat.
Phainon shifts a little, abruptly winces. “Are you—?” He tries to look around Khaslana's big head, but the arms trapping him are still as steel. He groans. “Are you still inside me?”
Khaslana kisses his chest, cheekily tongues at his nipple until Phainon pushes his face away with a palm to his forehead.
“I was thinking…” he starts, not fighting Phainon’s hold at all, “that we go another round?”
Phainon freezes. Removes his palm to grab Khaslana by both sides of his head. Looks him right in the eyes, and says, very slowly, “You’re fucking insane.”
Khaslana smiles serenely.
They don’t go another round. They laze around together in the afterglow for a little while longer before ultimately deciding a bath is very much needed. In which Phainon discovers that, yes, Khaslana is still inside of him, and the sensation of him pulling out while they’re both soft and sensitive is wildly uncomfortable. Khaslana’s careful about it though, because of course he is, and he apologizes as he offers to carry Phainon to the bath, who merely gives him a look before he backs off without another word.
The bathing itself is pleasant though, and Phainon for once shamelessly lets Khaslana do all the work, enjoying the relaxing sensation of warm water trickling down his back and chest.
They wash up, dry off, and change the soiled sheets through combined effort. Phainon finds the slate he was reading before this all started knocked onto the floor, but the bottle of oil already safely placed on a nearby shelf. Khaslana has nothing in particular to say about that.
Atop new, clean sheets and with pants thrown haphazardly on, they curl up together and promptly pass out.
They sleep well past Phainon’s normal wake up time, and are only barged in on once by a concerned Chrysos Heir who, according to Khaslana’s recounting, took one look at Phainon spooning Khaslana from behind while mutually shirtless and walked right back out without a single word.
Castorice struggles to meet both his and Khaslana's gazes for three days after that.
Phainon feels a bit guilty about it, but overall it’s hard to feel bad when there’s a pep in his step even Aglaea noticed.
Phainon tops the next time they have sex, and gets to see what Khaslana looks like when he cries for the very first time.
Incredible.