Archive of Our Own

"Your endurance, Deliverer," Mydei huffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest, "is shameful. All that strength and power with no real perseverance to show for it."

Phainon lays spread-eagle on the ground, flat on his back, chest heaving and face glistening with sweat. His bright blue eyes flick to Mydei towering above him and a grin cuts its way across his cheeks. "I'm…working…on it," he punches out between breaths, still able to hold onto some of his mischievousness.

But he's very clearly exhausted. The cause of said exhaustion had only been a race through the streets of Okhema, starting near the markets and curling down the bridge out of the city before whipping back past the dromas and up toward the stalls once more. A paltry thing—if you're not in a dead sprint. Phainon had taken an early lead but Mydei paced and passed him at around the halfway mark only to beat him by a clear half a minute, barely winded. Now the so-called Deliverer lays breathless on the cobbled stones where he fully collapsed only moments before, drenched in perspiration, having lost once again to the prince of Castrum Kremnos.

Victory doesn't feel half as sweet when presented with such a pitiful sight.

Mydei shakes his head; only slightly admonishing, but he levels a frown down at the man beneath him all the same. "You obviously aren't working on it correctly," he says, tapping a gauntlet boot upon the ground with a metallic 'tak-tak-tak'. "Were you putting even a bit of work into lasting longer toward all aspects surrounding stamina, you'd have been able to keep pace with me easily. You had been in the lead. You would have won. Fighting isn't only about the ability you possess; it's about honing and keeping up that ability. I should not have to tell you this, of all people."

Phainon groans, rolling his eyes with a pointed sigh, breath finally evening out to normal. "I'm well aware, Mydei," he responds in an exasperated tone. "You can save the lecture, really. Just because I can't beat you in a footrace where you very clearly cheated doesn't mean I don't have stamina in fights."

"I did not cheat," Mydei insists, stone-faced. "I do not need to cheat. And drafting you is not cheating."

"We didn't establish beforehand that you could draft me!"

"You made it simple to, pulling out ahead and zipping off like that. It's as if you were asking to lose."

Phainon runs his gloved hand over his face, brow furrowing as he examines the sweat buildup on his palm. "Regardless," he says in his gentle all-loving hero voice, like he's trying to silence the Crown Prince and the thought makes him balk with hot indignance, "congratulations on winning, Mydeimos. As discussed, I owe you dinner for three nights this week. But my stamina isn't half as bad as you seem to think it is." He levels Mydei with a charming grin as he rolls up and onto his feet in one smooth motion, brushing out the dust and dirt from his cloak. "I just need to work on running for long distances without burning out at the beginning, that's all."

"Hmph," Mydei responds, eyeing the man before him as he continues to casually brush dust from his body.

It really is a shame that Phainon's stamina isn't anything to write home about. He'd be double the warrior he is if he could last just a bit longer in a flat fight. More than that, though…it seems to be an actual problem that's bled into other aspects of his life. Mydei has unfortunately found a sure-fire way to win their fights he hasn't yet voiced; all he needs to do is let Phainon beat himself out upon his gauntlets as he circles like a caged lion, watching every move until Phainon's knees nearly give out from swinging his blade over and over. This simply was the grand finale to weeks of carefully measuring his endurance capabilities, and finding them woefully lacking.

"Anyways!" Phainon chirps brightly, grinning at Mydei and clapping his hands together. "I'll have to devise some other type of challenge. One where the ball's in my court, and I don't cheat unlike a Kremnoan I may or may not know. I've still some time before I need to meet with Lady Aglaea on business this evening—shall we go get lunch? My treat. Don't worry; I won't add it to your list of dinners. I specifically know the difference between 'three dinners' and a free lunch offered out of the kindness of my heart—"

"No," Mydei says thoughtfully, reaching up and rubbing his chin.

"Ah…no?" Phainon cocks his head, expression dropping to confusion and concern. "I didn't mean to brush you off, Mydei. I will take what you said into consideration, I promise. Or is it about the Kremnoan comment? I apologize! I'm just—"

"No," Mydei insists, interrupting him again and giving him a once-over.

It seems it cannot be avoided. Not exactly like Mydei is avoiding physicality in any sense of the word, but he had held off in order to measure Phainon's longevity exactly. Now that he's found it to be unfortunately deficient, it seems that critical action must be taken. He owes it to him, doesn't he? Phainon would absolutely do the same for him should he notice (in a different, darker universe where Mydeimos the Undying would suffer such afflictions) that Mydei's skills are lacking in such a vital area.

There…is a sure-fire way to fix such an affliction. Practice, and all that it comes with. But his suggestion for stamina regeneration certainly has nothing to do with the influx of dreams he's had starring the other that almost always end with him waking and snaking a hand between his thighs in a sleep-fogged frustration. It just…remains to be seen if Phainon's interest is piqued by such a notion. In Castrum Kremnos, citizens are more open with the reality surrounding their bodily needs. If something needs to be said and acted upon, it is said and acted upon. Okhemans—Phainon included—seem more…reticent to engage in actions they deem sordid, skating effortlessly around what they want until it either happens or passes them by. If he decides to suggest such a fix, will Phainon take it in stride, as he does their combat?

It certainly does not save him from feeling like a predator circling it's prey, sizing up a meal for the maw in his chest to fill. Perhaps he should bear some level of shame for actively planning something like this; a proverbial setting of the snare for the other to walk into, one last test in order to lay out his suggestion. But they've fought like wild dogs and they've bathed together. This is just the next natural step.

"I'm not upset with you, Deliverer," Mydei says. "It's not the first time you've shrugged off my suggestions, despite them being based in fact and observations."

Phainon pouts. "I don't shrug off everything you say," he says defensively.

"This has been a problem for some time," Mydei continues, ignoring Phainon's rebuttal. "Your fighting has gotten shoddy with lack of discipline. This is why I've been winning so often. I've been taking advantage of it in order to measure exactly how bad it has gotten. It's been an issue weeks in the making, Deliverer. You refuse to acknowledge a bigger issue and shove it down as something you'll address at some nebulous point in the future. You must fix it now, lest you be caught in a situation where you lose your life."

Phainon blinks, pale lashes fluttering repeatedly as he digests the severity Mydei's words, a thick silence stretching between the two. "I…yes," he says faintly, finally, reaching up and rubbing the back of his head, "I…suppose you're right. I have lost my fighting shape lately…most of the work I've been doing is diplomatic in nature rather than sparring or beating back the black tide." His face falls slightly, an almost crestfallen look crossing his aristocratic features. "I…thank you for bringing it up to me, Mydei. Really. It means…a lot that you'd notice enough to care."

"Of course I would," Mydei all but snaps, tamping down that irritating flush that always crawls up his cheeks whenever Phainon bares his heart so brazenly. "If only—it's because—you are a Chrysos Heir, the defender of Okhema. You cannot shirk one responsibility to focus on another; neither you nor I have the luxury of such lax behavior."

Of course he would notice enough to care. What a silly notion, otherwise. How could he not notice? Phainon practically consumes his eyeline and his thoughts every moment of every day. He sighs and shakes his head, clicking his tongue in dismay. "Regardless, I've thought of a way to work on stamina for you. Though…I imagine you may shy away from it, I can assure you it's necessary for maintaining your fighting shape."

Phainon puffs up his chest, bracing one palm upon his hip. "Nonsense," he boasts, full lips curling into a classic smile, "I'd never balk from a challenge, Mydei. You know me! I can take any suggestions or competitions you may consider or devise. Hit me!"

His stomach does a flip. Moment of truth. Challenge or not, the request may undo the Deliverer entirely. Mydei examines him with a stern expression, keeping his nerves to himself with the practiced dourness upon his face.

"Ultimately," he says carefully, slowly, like he's trying not to frighten a wild animal away, "the best way to work on your physical exertion outside of fighting is prolonged activity. If…you were to practice with sex…it would have a positive effect on your longevity in fighting as well."

Phainon nods and reaches up to rub his chin, pale eyebrows furrowing. "Hmm!" He says thoughtfully.

It takes him all of three seconds to actually parse Mydei's words, and as soon as he does his entire body freezes, stiffening up so taut from boots to head that Mydei nearly expects him to book it back toward the city. His face blooms a shade of crimson close to the color of Mydei's coat, and his mouth drops open in surprise, blue eyes big and round. It's like he's suddenly tied in place with wires, shock and most likely dismay rooting him to the ground before him. "Wh-what?" He stammers, jaw still hanging open. "What? What, Mydei? What? You want me to—sex? S-s…for fighting?!"

Maybe he shouldn't have expected anything else. "Close your mouth, Deliverer," Mydei deadpans, leveling him with the steadiest gaze he can muster, "or else I'll have to start calling you Flycatcher, too. Besides," he adds quickly, rationalizing it to both of them, "the two of them aren't very different, which is why I suggested it. Both require quite a bit of…movement and exertion."

Phainon's mouth clamps shut with an audible 'snap'. "What are you," he starts, before shaking his head back and forth as if there is water between his ears. "What do you mean? What do you mean? Sex? Sex?"

He sounds scandalized. A flare of annoyance licks up Mydei's spine. "I mean exactly what I just said," he snaps, itching to turn and leave himself. "What are you, a mockingbird? It's merely a matter of practicality. The alternative is fighting until you fall over, which can be done, but has quite a bit of down time in between and takes inherently longer to foster. Stamina can be built up in other ways." He forces himself to shrug nonchalantly, Phainon's bug-eyed stare still locked upon his own. "But this is the most efficient one."

He can't help the haughty irritation, proud and acrid in the base of his throat. "If you are not interested, then say no. I am not holding you at sword-point to make a decision. It is merely an offer."

Phainon's flush dissipates slightly but still clings to his pale cheeks, settling across the bridge of his aristocratic nose. It's like he can sense Mydei's displeasure and his hands twitch at his sides like he means to fix or soothe the discomfort he's wrought. He really seems to think about this for a moment, eyes flicking to and fro across Mydei's face, weighing the weight of his words with an inscrutable mortification. They stand like this for just a bit too long—Phainon blinking stupidly in the bright sunlight and Mydei shifting restlessly before him, the soft clanks of his gauntlets filling the heavy silence between them.

He's going to say no, Mydei realizes with chagrin.

Phainon does not say no. His hand reaches up to rub the lower half of his jaw thoughtfully once again, gaze tending toward calculating. He's actually…pondering the proposal, giving it the same amount of careful consideration that he would give a war plan or a request from Lady Goldweaver. Okay, so not an outright refusal. Mydei isn't sure whether or not to be concerned or relieved.

After a tedious and crushing few minutes of this strange silence he speaks in a soft, clear voice; "Can I assume…that it would be…with you?"

Bright irises snap to lock onto his own, a familiar fire burning underneath. A challenge.

Mydei's mouth feels much drier than it actually is. Would that…change his answer? Who else would it be with? Why would he care so much if it is or not? He does not trust his own voice to ask these questions, so he merely gives Phainon a firm and decisive nod.

"Okay," Phainon says too-quickly after all that quiet contemplation, straightening up slightly. There's a thick energy now between the two of them, the ionic charge Mydei feels before their fights, although this one roils a pit deep within his chest that he does not care to name. Good. This is…good. Phainon will always rise to the occasion, competitions notwithstanding. He underestimated him by assuming he'd turn tail and flee. And it's good that his stamina will be fixed.

This is good only for these reasons and no others.

Perhaps it will serve to rid him of the irksome evening desires that plague him, every one of them about Phainon's face and physique above him, underneath him, around him. Perhaps it will destroy the little jump in his heartbeat whenever his gaze lands on the other, remove the haunt of whatever his heart has been skirting around. "Good," Mydei echoes his inane thoughts in one sharp word, clearing his throat and turning on his heel. He cannot keep looking at him, at least right now. He may see the flush in Mydei's cheeks—another annoying symptom of his strange and foreign feelings for the other. He begins to march homeward, toward his meager lodgings within the heart of Okhema. "Then come with me. We will do this now."

"N-Now?!" Phainon practically peeps, voice several octaves higher and nearly inaudible. "Don't I get a minute to—to prepare?!"

"This is for your own good, Deliverer," Mydei calls over his shoulder as he strides purposefully, forcing himself to walk and not sprint. His face runs hot but his blood runs hotter, expectation and near-excitement bubbling up in him like a pot overboiled. "Sooner rather than later, right? Either come, or don't."

Phainon immediately catches up to him, jogging until he matches his speed. The two of them walk in tandem over the cobbled streets and rejoin the throngs of people, weaving their way through the streets and markets.

They are both silent, which is fine. Better for it, ultimately. Mydei's thought are spiraling around the idea that he's overstepped, pushed Phainon just a bit too far and the Deliverer is only entertaining him for the sake of…whatever he's changed the request to in his own head. Phainon has never said no to him, after all—not once. This is not a boon, nor is it a bane; it's merely a fact of their existence. The Deliverer has shot others down for poor ideas or ridiculous requests. He's really not a pushover in any sense of the word. And he doesn't back down from a challenge, not even when the odds are against them and the world is dissolving into a haze of black tide as far as the eye can see. But when it comes to Mydei and his few and far between requests…Mydeimos can not even count the refusals toward him simply because they do not exist.

Perhaps this latest ultimatum sits somewhere firmly between acceptance and denial, a strange wire they both tread with a caution they'd never afford their fights or meetings. Perhaps he had wanted to say no, but stopped himself because he never has before? Perhaps he wanted to fight instead but decided to humor Mydei?

Mydei's brow furrows as they reach his door, him unlocking it and letting the Deliverer inside. Could he be so lucky as to think Phainon had wanted to say yes?

He closes the door behind them with a heavy thunk, and Phainon's instantly torn from his side like he's allergic to him. He's still burning hot with that strange energy from before, eyes brighter than ever before, blue irises darting here and there as he takes in Mydei's sparse and Spartan lodgings. "Um," he says, and a smile twitches on his lips before he swallows it down. No doubt he'd thought of some quip and then immediately thought better of it. His gaze bounces onto Mydei for a split second before snapping back down to his feet. "…Bedroom?"

"I'm not asking for your hand in marriage, Deliverer," Mydei snaps, the uncertainty drawing heat into his tone. He whirls sharp on the balls of his feet before striding toward the back bedroom, moodily pushing the door open with the flat of his palm. "Get it together or get out. You're making me nervous with the way you're acting."

"Sorry!" Phainon exclaims, but Mydei is relieved to hear his footsteps follow him into the room, another click as the door closes behind them and truly leaves them alone together. "Just, uh, new to the situation!"

Understatement of the era.

His room is dim due to the only window facing away from the rising sun, and so he takes the opportunity to light a few candles on a small rickety table while he hears Phainon nervously shuffle about the room behind him. He can explore. Sure. Get a hold of his missing bearings—Mydei doesn't care. The orange glow flickers across the room and illuminates them both poorly in it's shaky limited light. A bottle of clear oil sits upon the table, procured only a few evenings ago for the purposes of his own pleasure, and he eyes it thoughtfully before facing Phainon again.

Phainon looks…lost, is the best way to put it. Uncertain of himself despite Mydei barking at him earlier about it, hands fiddling awkwardly in by his sides. What a ridiculous man, Mydei thinks with tandem irritation and affection. Nothing's even happened yet. "I'm genuinely floored that you're not…even phased by the…situation we're in. The…situation, I guess, that you put us in," He states in a sotto. His eyes are wide and wild, so pinned open and unseeing that for a moment Mydei worries he's somehow blinded himself before entering his quarters.

"I am not," Mydei lies curtly, "no."

He turns back toward the table and raises the bottle of oil, inspecting it's viscosity in the flickering dim. "This is for your own good, and therefore I can find no qualms about my offer. What, do you think I should serve to feel ashamed for offering this to you? This is a favor done for the purposes of fixing your stamina." He stops himself short of saying 'you'd have done the same for me' because Phainon definitely would not have, and if he had even thought such perfidious absurdities Mydeimos would have punched him so hard he'd reach the skies above Okhema and knock Kephale's orb from his shoulders. He's aware of his own hypocrisy. It just doesn't serve him to address it in any way. That's all. Instead, he says, "I would expect you to address such a request with the same mentality you address all our challenges."

"Well," Phainon says amenably, "I kind of do, I suppose. I'm just surprised you're not ashamed."

Mydei shoots him a withering look over his shoulder in response to silence him and the Deliverer exhales heavily as if punched, nearly falling into a seated position on the end of his bed.

Phainon is very clearly out-of-his-mind anxious now. His cheeks are pink even in the low lights, hands balled into tight fists over his thighs, foot tapping out a self-soothing pattern onto the floor before him. "I-I didn't mean it badly!" He exclaims, cupid-bow lips parting and eyebrows notching up in chagrin. "Really! Not like I think you should be ashamed, or anything like that! I just mean—I mean, it's unusual—well, not unusual, so to speak, but to be asked—approached, even—so candidly to have…to do…to engage in—"

"Sex," Mydei replies in a tone far more calm than he actually feels.

Phainon nods, swallowing so hard that his throat bobs heavy under the choker snug upon his neck. "S-sex," he repeats in a less confident voice, more color rising to his face, "even if it's only…for, um, endurance purposes…"

"May I remind you that you agreed to my offer?" Mydei replies, turning back toward the table and beginning to undo the buckles fastening his gauntlets to his forearms. He cannot deny that he is nervous, too, his palm very minutely trembling with a strange electricity he has never felt before. Sex is sex. It's always been simply that, a means to an end or a way to relieve stress…but with Phainon, someone who unfortunately occupies his head every moment he gets reprieve from princely or Chrysos Heir duties, it feels especially laborious.

It was his idea, anyways, his own challenge posed. Mydei did this to himself and he will not back down. He will simply…indulge, and Phainon's stamina will become better for it. It's a win-win scenario. In all honesty, he's doing the other a favor he should be thanking him for instead of balking and running for cover. "Think of it as a competition," he says, both to himself and to Phainon practically trembling behind him. "We engage in those on a daily basis. This will be no different."

"We're doing this," Phainon says faintly as Mydei fully removes his gauntlets, placing them upon the table with methodic metallic 'thunk's. "We're actually doing this. Kephale above…"

"It's for your endurance," Mydei insists once more with a sharper edge to the tone, grateful his back is turned to the other as he slowly undresses with all the ritual and systemic care he clothes himself in the mornings, the angle and the low light perfectly hiding that annoying flush settling in his cheeks. "There's no 'this' outside of our regular matches or competitions. You can still say no, Deliverer, and I won't—"

"No," Phainon says suddenly, a steely determination coating his tone and Mydei cannot help but smirk down at the table he stands over. That's what he wants to hear, from his Deliverer. "I'm not—" He very conspicuously tries to retain face, voice trembling with the effort to keep it even. "I-I mean…if it's for my endurance…a-and you've gone through such trouble already for the past few weeks, watching over me as I trained and such…I wouldn't dare to spurn such a gift, Mydeimos."

A gift. Like he's a boon won from war. Ridiculous. "Training session," Mydei corrects him sternly. He's so irksome in his earnest honesty, delivering a sentence with such candidity that serves to stutter his heartbeat just a little, unnerving him more than any rejection would. "Not a gift. This is a training session. Ideally we'll only need one."

"Uh-huh," Phainon says dumbly from behind him as he removes his trousers, setting the heavy belt buckle next to his affects and stepping out of the remainder of his clothes, toeing them to the side and gripping the table before him in mental preparation. "However you'd…whatever you'd…mm-hmm. Gods, you have a great ass. Awesome. Amazing body. S-sorry."

Fool, he admonishes in his head, but he fights to bite back a nearly insane laugh all the same. Even if he feels like a predator devouring it's prey, at least the prey thinks his ass looks good.

He supposes maybe he should feel shame, now fully naked to Phainon, his back still turned to him. Kremnoans relate shame to lost battles and rejections of society, and never to moments in the bedroom or such intimacies as this. And he's never felt embarrassed about his own skin—he learned who he was and made adjustments accordingly until he was entirely Mydeimos, the crown prince as he stands now. But heat prickles with the goosebumps across his flesh, and he cannot help but take a deep breath to steady himself as he runs a hand over his chest almost soothingly. Foolish to be feeling so flighty when he's the one who came up with the idea.

There's really no need for any hesitations at all. Phainon has seen him nearly naked in the baths before, although he's been careful to hide the reality of his physique from the other. The situation isn't emotional; it's practical. He's doing Phainon a favor, like he had said earlier. If he hadn't noticed the issues plaguing him then the man could be waylaid by the black tide and he'd never forgive himself for remaining silent.

"Who's…" Phainon says again, voice a little more steady. Maybe he's found his own nerve after floundering about for such a long time. Good. Him being so anxious was making Mydei anxious, skin prickling all over with goosebumps that are not befitting a warrior of Castrum Kremnos, nerves tingling like little tiny beetles were crawling across his flesh. "Who's, um, going to…t-top? I-I have no preference at all, really. Really! To the challenger goes the, um…decision-making? Spoils? We could…arm wrestle for it? I don't know—I don't know what you'd like to do. Whatever! Whatever you'd like to do. I'm…"

A quick intake of breath. "I'm going to stop talking, now," Phainon of Aedes Elysiae says, in a rare bout of wisdom.

The crux of the issue. Mydei offers a fleeting prayer to the gods before he slowly turns, half-expecting Phainon really to jump up and bolt out the door, never to cast him a glance again. "It's your stamina," he says defensively, crossing his arms over his broad chest and staring stone-faced at the Deliverer, "so I had assumed you would. Also you'd…need to, for other reasons. At least for this session. I would need to procure the…necessary accoutrements."

Again, he's never been ashamed of himself. He is the prince; there is no room for self-doubt in the world he's been born into with the title he's forcibly inherited. But he knows his physique is at odds with his physical sex—none of the few partners he's ever taken have changed their mind upon seeing him and yet he cannot staunch the quiet nagging at the back of his head that feels like he's crossing some sacred line with Phainon. The Deliverer is already so out of his element. This feels like…dropping a revelation on him he may not be entirely equipped to deal with.

Ultimately, it's too late. There's nowhere to hide. Phainon's eyes lock onto his cunt; lips clean-shaven, tattoos curling around his inner thighs as if to frame the mound, a small well-kept thicket of blonde hair seated upon his pelvis.

His mouth falls open in what must be shock.

And then he begins to grow hard, a conspicuous bulge tightening in his trousers even in the low light of the room, and Phainon's hand unconsciously moves to try and block it from sight. He takes in a deep staggering breath and exhales it in a sigh, wistful and wanting. "Gods," he whispers in a husked hush, "Mydeimos, you're so…you're beautiful. Really. Strong and gorgeous. What an insane body you have. You never cease to amaze me, did you know that? You're blinding, and brilliant, and—"

"Save it," Mydei hisses, neatly silencing him. At least he won't cut and run. But he shouldn't say things like that; it sounds like he's nearly in love with Mydei and that's not a train of thought he's willing to entertain in most circumstances, this one notwithstanding. He's thankful for his practiced impassivity as he props a hand upon his hip and flatly watches Phainon tent in his pants. "Does this answer your question? Is this amenable, to you?"

"Yup," Phainon replies, but it's nearly a squeak. His pupils have begun to bloom big with want, lips parting open slightly as his gaze rakes up and down Mydei's body. It's very nearly a physical thing—Mydei swears he can feel the burning trails of his eyes like fingertips raking his skin, and he fights the urge to throw his clothes back on and stalk out of the room. He feels like a piece of meat offered up on a silvered platter. But he really has no room to be upset, he knows. This is his own doing. He asked for—he suggested this. It would do neither of them good to storm out before anything has even occurred save Phainon now having seen him entirely naked. "Uhm…how should I…? I mean, how do you want me to, um, start?"

Mydei reaches blindly behind him and grasps the bottle of oil, raising it and shaking it slightly at Phainon. "Relax," he replies. "I'll take care of preparing myself. All you need to do is disrobe and lie on—"

"Can I?"

The question takes him off-guard and he pauses, mouth nearly hanging open from where he was cut off mid-sentence. Phainon tilts his head slightly, all previous consternation dissolving into a quiet sort of finality, a wanton resolve glittering in his eyes. "Prepare you, I mean," he corrects himself softly, a gentleness in his tone that is confusingly close to reverence. "You wouldn't…need the oil, that way, and then we can save it for me…actually…"

He wets his lips, still staring at Mydei's cunt. "I don't want to hide it," he says, cutting off his own trail of thought. "What I want, I mean. I want you in my mouth, Mydeimos. I want you to come on my tongue. Will you? Can you?"

Unexpected. Forward. And a variable Mydei hadn't thought to consider ahead of time. He had figured they'd devise some sort of new competition in the bedroom and fuck like they fight, returning again if needed to quell the stamina issues. It's not…unwanted, so to speak. And ultimately not a terrible idea. Phainon is preternaturally gifted with his tongue, at least to speak silver and navigate war-table conversations and debates alike…it stands to chance that he'd be devilishly good at cunnilingus. Can he come on his tongue? Yes, probably. Will he let him try?

Mydei inspects him as he considers this, feeling more than a little strange stark-naked while Phainon sits entirely clothed.

He means it. That glint of desire smoulders hot and heavy in his pale gaze, eyes burning into Mydei's. And he had said he wants to. The Deliverer isn't a liar. "Very well," Mydei concedes, face growing hot, "but…you need to take off your clothes. And prepare yourself with this."

He underhand tosses the small corked bottle of oil to Phainon whose hand snaps up to catch it, a brilliant stupid grin blooming across his pale cheeks. "Try not to come in your own fist while you do," he says in a teasing tone he does not entirely feel, still off-kilter from the idea of Phainon's tongue at the apex of his thighs. It's really starting to feel like one of those annoying fantasies that have been plaguing him for the past few months. He half-considers pinching himself in order to measure whether or not he is still awake. "It would be a shame if the Deliverer couldn't even make it to the stamina-portion of the test. Not 'delivering' anything except your own pleasure…what indignity."

Thankfully, Phainon rises to the taunts, a familiarity in their banter that soothes Mydei's reeling head. "Oh, this is a test now?" He asks in his own playful way, standing up and immediately near-ripping at the pauldron straps and cloak and robes, quickly shucking himself bare until he stands just as naked as Mydei is. "Let's hope I pass with flying colors, then. I'll be satisfied if I can impress the great Mydeimos of Castrum Kremnos."

He's—Mydei's head flits through word after word, finding none of them adequate enough to describe the Deliverer.

Mydeimos is not a small man but Phainon has always frustratingly had a few inches over him, more broad-chested and wide-shouldered yet somehow still lean and willowy like a stalk of wheat. He runs his gaze appreciatively over the sweat-shined lines of his body, taking his time running his gaze over his muscles and minutely enjoying how Phainon's body flushes where he chooses to look, even at a distance. His form tapers down into more slender hips, corded thighs twitching slightly. His cock is…obscenely large as it always has been, fringed with white curls, a treasure trail starting near his navel to halo the appendage. He's seen him nude before. This isn't new.

What is new to Mydei is the fact that he is already desperately hard. The head of his cock is flushed as if blushing like the rest of him, a bright and vibrant red at a stark contrast to his pale skin. It's full length is…impressive, to say the least—he's seen him lax in the baths but he's not one to look or stare at another man's cock, he's not a whore, he's a prince—and Mydei fleetingly worries how he will take the entirety of it within him. "We'll see," is all he says enigmatically, proud of the way his voice remains unwavering. "I don't suppose you have any ideas on how you'd like to please me."

Something curiously dark flutters across Phainon's vision before disappearing into his easy smile. "I've plenty of ideas," he says casually in a rough voice, but he tilts his head questioningly. "You can sit on the edge of the bed, if that's easiest for you?"

Interesting. Interesting, interesting, interesting. Interesting? Maybe he really is going insane. Mydei cocks his head to the side but acquiesces, walking past Phainon in a far-too nonchalant motion for them both being entirely nude and about to fuck. He seats himself on the edge of the bed, feet planted firmly on the floor, hands gripping the bedspread on either side of his thighs like a lifeline. "It's relatively easy," he quips in a monotone, Phainon scoffing in amusement before him. At this angle, the Deliverer's cock is nearly at eye level. It would be dangerously easy to take him into his mouth. Ridiculous. Instead, Mydei smirks and forces himself to stare at the other's face instead of his enormous member like an uncouth savage.

"Kneel for your prince," he drawls.

Phainon's eyebrows come down in a feigned anger. "I should have known better," he says lightly, chiming words at odds with the way he uncorks the bottle with his teeth and spits it to a corner, pouring a lascivious amount on his palm and taking that obscenely large appendage in his palm to lather it up. "If I give you a modicum of power, of course you'll take it and use it against me."

Mydei forces himself to look to the side, teeth clenching together hard. It does nothing to staunch the obscene slick noise of Phainon jerking himself off on approach. "This was your suggestion," he says hoarsely. "If you want me some other way, then tell me."

A warmth settles between his legs, and his knees are immediately slung upon Phainon's shoulders. "This way is fine," Phainon hums. "As long as you're comfortable, my prince."

Oh. Gods, he's strong. Broad. Huge. Fuck, Mydei thinks distantly, focusing a precise glare on the table he'd just left. This new and intimate contact ties knots into his stomach; his own legs heavy with muscle being treated with a nearly cavalier ease as if they weigh nothing is intoxicating. And actually seeing the Deliverer on his knees, pupils booming wide in his technicolor bright irises with his mouth between Mydei's legs may ruin him. "I'm fine," he manages through gritted teeth. "Comfortable enough. Just get on with it, if you're—"

The air is knocked out of his lungs as Phainon surges forward, pressing a hot and wet open-mouthed kiss to his cunt.

Mydei hadn't realized he was so sensitive. It's been a while since he laid with anyone—his sensitivity in private places is not something he thinks about, and he's grown used to his own hand to where it doesn't actively make him breathless. This is…different. Mydei snaps his head back, sentence still hanging on his lips, eyes wide as he watches Phainon begin to lavish his cunt with silent praises. His mouth is devastatingly soft and pliant, lips working over his already damp folds with soft kisses and little kitten licks as if he's just meaning to tease and taste rather than make him come. His eyes are open, a smile glittering in his gaze, mischievous and knowing as they lock gazes. "HKS," he hisses instead through gritted teeth.

Phainon's other hand still is wrapped around his cock; Mydei can see the slow movement of his pleasure through the jostle and motion of his shoulder, slick noises filling the air between them. He hums and the noise shoots through Mydei, lodging firmly in his core, feeding a hunger he hadn't expected to be so ravenous. Each soft kiss is teasing and reverent, each little line of his tongue tasting the outside of his folds and his slit enough to quickly piss Mydei off. He fists his hands into the bedspread, glowering down at Phainon between his legs.

It is enough to ruin him. He was right. Phainon sighs blissfully, pretty eyes shuttering closed as he finally gets to it and lets his tongue sink between Mydei's folds. He drags his tongue through his slit and the motion sends a fresh jolt of electricity through Mydei, swelling hot and heavy in the depths of his core. But he moves so slow, with an intimate purpose that Mydei does not want him to currently have, licking long scalding stripes from his entrance to his clit to swirl around for a tantalizing moment before starting a new trail from his core. "Phainon," he says carefully, darkly, "pick up the fucking pace."

If Phainon hears him, he doesn't acknowledge it in any way. He moves to wrap his free hand under Mydei's leg, spreading him open like a debauched flower as he slowly assaults his cunt with more of those terrible kisses and licks.

"You said you wanted me to come on your tongue," Mydei hisses again, knocking his heels into Phainon's back, trying to kick him into gear. "This isn't conducive to making me come, Deliverer."

Phainon draws out one more lascivious lick before cracking his eyes open again, darkened irises blinking at him near-coquettishly underneath pale lashes. "You're so impatient. Can you blame me? You taste good, Mydei," he murmurs, simple and earnest, and Mydei suppresses a shudder. He feels himself grow more slick under such honest words, damp enough to nearly drip down his slit onto the bedsheets below him. "Mm. Would you believe me if I said I'd wanted to do this for a while?"

"Shut up," Mydei mutters, looking sternly off to the side again. Fuck. That would be…a lot. Too much. Nothing he wants to unpack while Phainon's head is between his legs. "Don't say things you don't mean."

Phainon lets out a little chuckle and his hot breath ghosts against sensitive skin. "Believe whatever you want, Mydeimos," he hums in response. Thankfully, he doesn't spend time on debates like he normally would. He moves forward again to take Mydei in his mouth once more, lips cupping the apex of his thighs to where his clit sits hard and pearled, suckling deep and powerful. His tongue swirls with a filthy, obsessive focus, attentions reaffixed as he begins this new and wretchedly beautiful onslaught.

Mydei's hips buck into his mouth on impulse he cannot control and he moans, a half-strangled little sound that he chokes back as much as he can, squeezing his eyes shut as if to stave off the sensations with blindness. Fuck, that feels good. It's like Phainon opened up his darkest and most private thoughts to figure out exactly where to put his tongue, exactly how much pressure to apply to his clit. The Deliverer's deft fingers are strong against the muscle of his thigh, too, and Mydei sighs on the upswell of a moan, unable to look and yet unable to look away. He can feel the strength of Phainon's jaw tensing against him as he practically devours him, lips sealing around his slit with such ardent attentions that it is in and of itself intoxicating.

And it's ridiculous just how small he feels in Phainon's hands, a thought process that should piss him off serving only to shoot sparks up his spine like stone to flint, seeking to fully light a destructive fire within. Phainon is good with his tongue, he thinks stupidly, thoughts already growing dumb with the chase of pleasure. He bucks again as Phainon doubles his intent, insane focus on his clit, cheeks half-hollowed out with the force of a particularly mean suck. His tongue curls around the bundle of nerves, drenching it in saliva, gentle and attentive and yet purposeful and teasing—a silent demand for Mydei's pleasure to overtake him. He groans into Mydei's cunt and Mydei cannot help but shiver back, clawed fingernails gouging holes into the sheets fisted in his palms.

He can feel himself slowly unwinding, a tight knot in his core beginning to unravel as he rocks up in time with Phainon's motions. He's soaked—he can hear it in the drag of Phainon's mouth through his swollen folds, and it fills the room with an obscene wetness. He bleeds into the sheets on the bed with a ridiculous speed, saliva and slick that Phainon has drooled out from the corners of his greedy mouth near running down his cunt. And he hears a similar wet-slicked drag from Phainon still slowly jerking himself off. To his surprise, his motions seem slow and measured. He'd nearly expected the man to come in his fist as soon as he got the chance to, no self-control and stamina to hold back from his own desires. He wants to say something, to fill this aching silence with some sort of taunt or—or anything, but as soon as he opens his mouth Phainon flicks his clit with the tip of his tongue and whatever crafty jab Mydei had been fashioning is destroyed and consumed by a surprised, "Ah!"

Phainon's eyes snap open again. That darkness is back, deepening the color of his irises a pretty inky gold, and having him stare holes into Mydei is somehow even worse and more carnal than anything else he could have done. He groans again, a deep-seated noise, a dragging of stone across stone; very nearly a growl that rip-roars into Mydei once more. He feels weak with pleasure, stuck staring down at Phainon as that tight knot near his navel quickly undoes itself. He has the irreverent urge to cover Phainon's eyes with his palm—instead, he raises his hand and laces it through Phainon's pale locks, gripping his hair none-too-gently in lust-addled greed. "Do that again," he pants, voice breaking on the final syllable in something just a little too close to desperation.

Phainon's eyes lid and he obliges. Another flick; another jolt of Mydei's hips into his mouth, over and over until Mydei's breaths are too loud and too large for his chest, gasping into the space between them, practically humping into Phainon's mouth. "Fuck," he manages between two of them, forcing himself to stay sitting up. Falling back feels like a loss, and Mydei will not lose whatever remaining composure he has. He's already pistoning against Phainon's mouth with wild, frantic abandon like a whore in heat—it really wouldn't be much of a concession. "Close," he manages another syllable, rough and strangled, fighting to shape the words around the heaving breaths he's having to take. "Don't—don't stop. Don't stop. Close."

"Mm," Phainon says—an agreement or a moan, he's not sure—and works him over with renewed vigor. He alternates those electric little flicks of his tongue with those long dragging licks from before, each one bearing the pressure of his own declaration to make Mydei come on his tongue. He fucks his tongue into Mydei's entrance repeatedly with a sick greed that makes Mydei yelp and shudder over him, fingers tightening in his hair, before returning to his clit to suckle at it once more.

He can't even muster a noise or a warning. Mydei's orgasm is a sudden, violent thing, a tearing of some final piece of sobriety before he finally surrenders to the mindlessness of pleasure. Mydei snaps forward with a garbled sob, hunching over Phainon's head, both hands coming up to bury in his hair and shudder uselessly around him as he comes. Slick practically gushes from him while the world dims wreathed in black, his cunt clenching wildly around Phainon's tongue like it sought to rip it from his head and keep it inside him forever, constantly wrapping lithe and wicked around his clit.

He stays taut for a minute, shivering—Phainon lets his tongue drag lazy little circles over that bundle of nerves, wreaking aftershocks and follow-up starbursts across his skin, nose skirting against his pelvis as he hums in what must be contentment. He moves his free hand to wrap around Mydei's lower back, practically cradling him against his face, jaw moving to catch his slick and nearly gulp it down. Like—like he's in the desert and Mydei is the water from a lagoon, like he's never had his thirst sated in such a way before. It's delicious. Mydei combs his fingers through Phainon's hair deliriously as he works himself back down to reality, hazy pleasure trickling comfortably across his skin.

"Well done," he commends him in what he had intended to be a stately, princely voice were it not for the crack in his tone and the breathlessness still causing his chest to heave. "That was…notable."

Phainon stills, looking up with half-amusement and half-anger. "'Notable'," he repeats in a voice just as ruined as Mydei's is, cheek leaning against his inner thigh. His face is a mess. His eyes are shaded and hooded with lust, cheeks flushed and wet with slick, lips a bright and similar shade of pink. "I made you come and all I get is that it was 'notable'."

"Well, it was notable because I came," Mydei says arrogantly. Phainon's hair is soft through his fingertips, so he lets himself continue to comb it out, Phainon sighing in quiet bliss. "You did well. I hope for your sake that you haven't yet."

His shoulder has stilled and the wet noises have ceased. But Phainon shakes his head, letting his eyelids drift closed. "Nope," he confirms, and he raises his oil-slicked hand as if to show off the lack of his own spend on his palm. "I stopped jerking off." His own arrogant smile curls up on his cheeks as he leans the weight of his head against Mydei's thigh. "I wanted to enjoy the show. It's not every day that a guy gets to eat out the crown prince, you know."

"It could be," says Mydei's treacherous mouth without his consent or awareness.

Phainon's eyes pop open again, gaze snapping up to meet Mydei's. "Yeah?" He asks hoarsely.

Mydei flushes a color he'd prefer not know he's capable of turning. "For your stamina, I mean," he says stupidly in weak defense, sharp teeth biting his tongue so hard as if he intents to bite the damn thing off. He probably should if he's so eager to spout absurdities like this. "We could, uh, do this daily. If your stamina is that bad. Not because of anything else. Shut up," he adds, even though Phainon has said nothing. "Fuck you."

Phainon snorts, grin stretching across his cheeks. "Rude." He's still flushed—with exertion? Or with a similar embarrassment that Mydei feels? He wouldn't blame him if it were the latter. He seems exceptionally dedicated to making a fool of himself as of late. It wouldn't be out of the realm of possibilities for the Deliverer to sympathize with his stupidity. "Maybe, then I should hope my stamina isn't what the prince thinks it should be," he continues equally as stupid, pressing a large wet kiss to Mydei's ticklish thigh. "If you wanted me on my knees, Mydeimos…you could have just said so."

"Shut up," Mydei snaps again, a little more heat to the words, twitching away from his kiss, "and don't do that. Get up here. Your turn."

He laces the final two words with a threat, a promise. This is why they're here, after all. Not for his pleasure. But…it's an interesting concept, to have Phainon so willing to drop down and shove his face between his legs. And he's good at it. Mydei's cunt throbs at the thought so he files the idea away under 'Requests to Make to Phainon On a Semi-Regular Basis' which is an entirely new file he's created just for this notion alone.

Phainon grins, wild and without abandon, but he removes Mydei's legs from his shoulder and rises up, crawling beside him onto the bed. "Yessir," he says with a shaky little salute, and Mydei rolls his eyes in response. "Where do you want me?"

"Lie back," Mydei instructs.

Phainon obliges him and settles as if he's lying down to sleep, head perched upon the pillows behind him. A hand props itself underneath his head, the other lying casually across his sweat-soaked chest.

He's obedient, like a dog, and Mydei finds that he likes this quite a lot. It's a trait at odds with his relative impatience. A poorly trained dog. Maybe he just needs a prince at the other end of the leash. Maybe he'll snap and lose himself in pleasure. Maybe he'll come when Mydei asks him to, spilling dutiful and half-mad over Mydei's fingers, into his mouth, into his cunt. There are many possibilities to consider and Mydei likes every possible picture that is painted by his debauched mind. He even wears a collar like a dog. Mydei readjusts himself until he's seated next to Phainon, fingers idly crooking under the choker he wears and pulling it experimentally. Phainon's head follows, smile twisting with curiousity, head lifting slightly off of the bed. "Having fun?" He asks.

Yes, Mydei thinks, but he remains silent, twisting his braid in his free hand as he lets his eyes run up and down his powerful frame. He releases the choker and lets Phainon's head drop back onto the bed. Phainon is still rock-hard, but his cock is nearly weeping come—it's flushed an angry red now, stark against the paleness of his skin with the all-consuming desire to be touched, to fuck into something, to be relieved in any way with pleasure. It shines with oil in the light. Really, as far as cocks go, the Deliverer's is relatively attractive. Mydei reaches out and lets his fingertips graze the damp curls at the apex of Phainon's thighs and he's rewarded with a quiet gasp.

"Look at you," he marvels, half to himself, as he lets his fingers wrap loosely around the massive cock before him. It's heavy with it's own weight, falling over Phainon's pelvis, but it's firm and hot and it oozes even more come with something as simple as Mydei's gentle touches. He slides the skin up and back agonizingly slow, tilting his head as if innately attempting to get a better look at the sight before him. "Your body is begging to be touched. Does it hurt, here?"

"Doesn't really hurt," Phainon says in a strangled tone. Mydei shoots a look toward his face. That little cocky smile is gone now, replaced with parted lips and wide eyes, gaze glued to where Mydei's hand gently and teasingly pumps his cock. "I mean…there's pressure. I'm not…close. I mean, if you keep doing that I will be."

"Mm, but I'm barely touching you," Mydei argues, lowering his eyelashes. The head of his cock oozes out another shiny pearl of come, and Mydei watches it as it dribbles down the side of his length until it pools over his own fingers, slicking up his motions even further. "Look at that. Practically weeping for me. I'm honored, Phainon."

"Shut up," Phainon says, but it's on the cusp of a heavy inhale. Oh, he likes that. Not like Mydei didn't think he affected Phainon at all, especially after being eaten out by him, but he cannot deny the heady reel of practical lordship he feels over the other. Phainon is desperate for it even if he chooses to hide it.

Mydei continues to twist his braid in his free hand thoughtfully, eyes drinking up Phainon's frame as he contemplates his next move. What would be the meanest thing he could do? He could use his mouth…but he wants to watch Phainon's face contort in abject desire. His hand would be fine. But something else occurs to him—not outright fucking just yet, but a devilish idea on how to make this just as torturous as it can be for someone trying to hold off on coming for some time. Of course, he corrects himself hastily, internally, this is only to measure the Deliverer's stamina. Right. Yes. But being mean could be part of it. The more he teases the more Phainon has to fight the ease of orgasm and pleasure…maybe he can make this work.

Mydei smirks, swinging his leg up and over Phainon until he moves to straddle him.

Phainon looks panicked, mouth fully popping open now, moving to sit up on his elbows. "Mydei—"

Mydei reaches out and pushes back on his chest until he obediently falls back onto the bed with a soft 'thump'. "Relax," he demands again, and Phainon lets out a shaky sigh, "You trust me, don't you? If you're worried about actual penetration, I think you'd need to earn that, don't you? Or at least prove you won't come instantly from fucking me." He frowns down at Phainon's cock as the other shivers beneath him. "You really do look like you're about to burst."

"You speak so highly of me," Phainon complains, the sarcasm muddled by the breathlessness of his voice. His palms move to Mydei's hips and then immediately fly off as if he's thought better of it, moving a hand up to lay by his head and the other into a tight fist shaking on the bedspread. "Maybe my stamina is amazing in bed and I just had a few bad weeks of fighting."

Mydei levels him with a hard look, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. "Then I'll get off of you," he deadpans, "and you can figure out the rest yourself."

"No!" Phainon nearly shouts. Genuine panic flits across his face—his hands do shoot out to grab Mydei's hips, palms sinking into the flesh and muscle near-painfully with how tightly he holds him in place above his hips. "No, that's—no! No, we can keep—we can keep testing it! I mean, it makes sense, doesn't it?!

It takes everything in Mydei not to burst into laughter. Gods, is he fun to tease. He fights to keep his twitching expression his face, stony and aptly scolding, tapping his middle finger upon his side. His cunt drips in a way that does not help the intimidation he's sewing. Hopefully if Phainon notices he'll think it's merely a vestige of his previous orgasm and not his anatomy practically drooling at the idea of Phainon's hard cock pressed tight and hot against it. "Very well," he acquiesces magnanimously, Phainon slumping back against the bed with relief, a heavy sigh escaping his chest. "Then we'll keep going. But I expect you to last as long as you can, Deliverer. I will be sorely disappointed if you cannot."

And without any further preamble he reaches down to steady himself on Phainon's hip, settling down on the hard line of his length with a wet and lewd-sounding 'squish'.

He's hot. He runs hotter than others, no doubt due to his golden blood—Mydei has never fucked another Chrysos Heir, after all—and Mydei cannot help the hiss that escapes him as that searing hard warmth shoots through his system. Phainon moans in response, a long pretty noise that he releases one of Mydei's hips and clamps a hand over his mouth to, surprise and lust immediately clouding over his shiny blue eyes. His cock fits perfectly against Mydei's slit, the fat folds parted to nestle the obscenely large member within, the head nearly kissing where his clit now presses up against Phainon's lower stomach. It feels good. It feels right. Maybe they should have been doing this every night after their sparring sessions, Mydei thinks in an annoyingly fleeting thought. If he had known it would be this wet, this solid, this real, he would have demanded Phainon on his knees eons ago.

Mydei readjusts his weight and rolls his hips slightly, sliding up and down Phainon's cock. It makes a noise that in any other circumstance would be disgusting—here, between them and the dark of the room, it shoots straight under Mydei's navel and begins rebinding that firm knot of pleasure and budding lust in his pelvis.

Perfect. This will be good. He does it a few more times, and Phainon lets out another pretty low sound, teeth gritted hard in his head. His eyes are wide, glued to Mydei's hips, hands shaking on Mydei's hip and on his own mouth, face turning a brick-red. "Oh, Kephale," he practically whimpers into his palm. "Fuck. Mydei, you're so…gods."

"Mm-hmm," Mydei hums, half-listening. He forces himself to focus; if he chases his own pleasure atop Phainon then that defeats the purpose of them being there at all. He tilts and rolls his hips in specific ways, watching Phainon closely like a hawk, both hands steadying himself wrapped around Phainon's waist. He makes a careful little list of his own half-formed motions, feeling like a professor for a moment over a prince. Whatever Phainon moans at or jerks his hips upward at is what he adds to the list, repeating the pressure and the tilt over and over until Phainon is gasping for air beneath him.

Warm electricity crackles in him pleasantly. He's soaked, thanks to Phainon's saliva, the oil, and his own slick. He really takes his time with the languorous pull of his hips back and forth against the other, gliding effortlessly against the throbbing cock between his legs. "Starting to falter, Deliverer?" He asks, in a voice huskier than he meant it but he devours the way Phainon's eyelashes flutter and he whimpers again, body trembling beneath his touch and ministrations. "Already? We've barely begun. You'll need to hold on for some time if you wish to prove yourself. You aren't even in me, yet."

"I can prove myself," Phainon breathes in a near moan, hands trembling unconvincingly upon Mydei's hips. "Oh, gods, but you're so soft and wet for me here, Mydeimos. Let me bury myself in you, please, please—let me come inside you, let me feel your cunt milking me dry—"

Mydei's mouth drops open as Phainon's clamps shut, face bursting with crimson embarrassment. It's…not what he had expected. Sure, the Deliverer never truly could shut up, but for him to wax such lewd poetic so easily is…hilarious. Attractive? Hilariously attractive. And the fact that his first instinct is to beg so sweetly fills Mydei with an almost smug satisfaction, a coiling of a greedy creature within him prepared to pounce on this newfound weak point. His obedient Deliverer, desperate for pleasure and to please, saying such pretty things…oh, he'll ruin him. He grinds down hard on the latest slide and Phainon gasps and moans, hips bucking up on an impulse he doesn't seem to have control over.

"Phainon," he grins viciously, falling forward and catching himself on arms propped on either side of the other's head, "don't stop on my account. You were saying something about…you wanting me to milk you dry?"

"Stop," Phainon groans, tossing an arm over his eyes as he shivers and keens, "don't, I don't—I don't know where that came from, honest. I won't—if you don't want me to—"

"Oh, but I want you to," Mydei purrs, watching every twitch and jolt rapturously, feeling every inch a prince above a prole as he ruts long and methodical against Phainon's cock. "Go ahead and talk yourself into orgasm, my Deliverer. What a sight that would be. If you're good, I'll consider letting you fuck me like you're so desperate to. But you'd have to earn it. You understand, of course."

"Your—Deliverer," Phainon chokes out, nodding intently, head bobbing up and down like it's pulled on a golden thread as he stares with glazed eyes at Mydei. "Your, your, yours—gods, I'd lay in your bed every night for you to do this. I'd be—I'll be your servant, Mydeimos, so fucking beautiful and warm on top of me, my prince, my gorgeous prince…"

"Alright, alright," Mydei huffs, looking to the side with his own heated blush. "Don't lay it on so thick." But he adds this to that newfound file anyways. Phainon, in his bed every night, this desperate and obsessed with him…he cannot help the shudder coursing through his body as he barely flags the rhythm he's found.

"Can't help it," Phainon gasps, breath stolen from his chest with every lazy flick forward of Mydei's hips. "Y-you are. So fucking beautiful."

Mydei sets a well-paced rhythm, he thinks; it's not too slow or fast, his thrusts covering the entirety of Phainon's cock, enjoying both the view and the feel of Phainon's precome and cockhead brushing against his clit on the pull back. It's not teasing to himself—just relaxing and pleasant, an orgasm far too distant to consider as a threat. But he knows how his cunt must feel, having fingers wedged there before, velvety and soft and twitching in obvious arousal. It must be torture for Phainon. At least, he hopes it is.

And Phainon is fighting for his life underneath him. He breaks off on another breathy tangent as he ruts in perfect time to Mydei's languorous drag of his hips, but he's stuttering and shivering so violently Mydei guesses he is actively fighting off orgasm at this point. Good. Gods, he looks absolutely divine, eyebrows notched up in desiring anguish, drool bleeding from the corner of his mouth. "Mydeimos," he tries again, pink tongue darting out of his mouth to wet his lips, "M—you have to—slow down, please, I-I don't—"

"I don't have to do anything," Mydei replies smugly. He leans down to take the nape of Phainon's neck between his lips, suckling hard just above that tattoo seared into the Deliverer's skin, relishing the absolutely lascivious moan drawn ragged and desperate from his lips in response. "You'll have to hold on for just a little bit more," he hums directly against Phainon's pulse point, "if you even can. But isn't this torture, for you? Don't you want to come so, so badly? Don't you like what I'm doing to you? What can I do to make it better for you, Phainon? Tell me. I'll move any way you want to make you come for me."

"M-Mean," Phainon heaves, brilliant blue eyes squeezing shut hard. A little tear trickles down from it's corner toward his temple and Mydei moves to lap this up, savoring the salt upon his tongue. His thrusts are becoming erratic. He's close. So close. What will it take to get him to come…? "Gods. You're—you're perfect, you feel so fucking good, so fucking hot and warm. Pl-please. Just—slow down, if—if I'm—"

But the desire to remain 'mean' blooms hot within Mydei, a heavy and delirious satisfaction from knowing it's his body doing this to Phainon. He genuinely had no idea Phainon could be so desperate and pretty beneath him, breathtaking in the desperation absolutely obliterating him. He speeds up his own pace, a surprised breath squeezed from his chest as the new rhythm has Phainon's cockhead kissing his clit on every jerk of his hips, but he grins feral as Phainon moans in surprise and chagrin. "Mm, but it feels good when I move like this," he drawls, nose nuzzling into Phainon's neck. "And I know it feels good for you, too. Can you come for me, Deliverer? Weren't you going to talk yourself into orgasm? Tell me everything you want to do to me. Tell me how my body makes you feel."

"Oh," Phainon gasps like a drowning man, head tilted back to show the stark and beautiful line of his throat, the throes of ecstasy beginning to overwhelm him. He doesn't try and stop Mydei—in fact, his hands on Mydei's hips make him rut even faster, the air filling with a wet slick sound of their back and forth motion as his cunt practically weeps over the ridge of his cock. "Oh, My-Mydeimos, I want—I want to fuck into you so fucking bad, please, please let me shove my cock into you, all for me, all mine—"

"That's rather presumptuous," Mydei murmurs into his throat, letting his teeth drag over the swell, but he cannot help the surge of triumph crashing through him. His. All Phainon's. And Phainon, in turn, entirely his own. He buries his teeth as hard as he can into Phainon's shoulder, digging a hard satisfying line into the thick muscle and skin, the copper taste of golden blood bursting into his mouth.

Phainon begins to stutter, hips unable to keep perfect tempo, and Mydei can't help but smile into the wound he's created with vindictive satisfaction. "That's it, Phainon," he hums directly into his ear, letting his breath ghost over the shell as the Deliverer bucks himself stupid against Mydei's cunt, little gasps and choked moans sounding delicious—sounding like victory. "Come for me, beautiful. Come all over my cunt. It feels so good—I know you want to. You're so close. Go ahead."

"Mydeimos," Phainon manages one more desperate whine before he nearly slams his hips up in orgasm. His head tilts back again and he moans, loud and low, cock twitching and sputtering underneath Mydei as he paints both of their chests and stomachs with stripes of come. He convulses like he's possessed, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, eyebrows notched up in pure, beautiful agony…Mydei is immediately obsessed with how he looks. He moves his hand on an impulse he's not entirely aware of to Phainon's hair, fingers tangling in the soft pale locks as if to comfort him, rocking his hips back and forth through his climax.

"Good job," Mydei purrs inanely, losing the plot for a beat as he watches Phainon shudder and shake beneath him, cock twitching with the final dredges of his orgasm. He cannot tear his eyes away from Phainon—his gaze bounces from his agonized face to the come decorating both of their stomachs. "That's it. Beautiful."

"Not 'good job'," Phainon nearly wails in response as soon as he gets his bearings, looking genuinely crestfallen. He opens his shining blue eyes once more, half-hazed with pleasure and tears, a pout sitting on his shapely lips. "I didn't—I was…you feel so good, Mydei. I couldn't…"

Ah. Right. The—the entire reason they're here. Mydei had genuinely forgot for a brief and beautiful moment, watching Phainon lose himself in the throes of climax. He takes a deep breath and leans backwards, scooting off of Phainon until he sits bracketed between his thighs, steadying the thrumming beat of his own heart. "Right," he says stupidly, blinking himself back to reality, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of a hand. "Right. Your stamina, is, uh…needs work."

"Did you come?" Phainon asks, in a tone nearly pleading.

Mydei scoffs. "No," he says sternly, "you already did that with your tongue, Deliverer. I was trying to see how long it took you to. Although you cut a very nice picture while doing so…you still have a lot to work on. It happened rather fast, all things considered." He dispassionately looks down at himself, stomach splattered with Phainon's release, frowning in thought. "We may have to come back to this another day if you are spent. You look rather spent."

That seems to set the Deliverer off. Something in Phainon's gaze darkens and devours that pleading uncertain look, and Mydei nearly jumps as he feels him stiffen up once more against his leg. "Oh?" He asks with a challenging smirk, dragging his gaze down Phainon's body until it lands squarely on his cock, flushed again in as many minutes with the same pink sitting in his cheeks, precome beginning to drip lascivious from it's tip again with a newfound lust. "Rising up to the challenge? Good. If you've recovered, we can go for another round. To…work on your endurance, of course."

That dark look still sits on Phainon's face. He doesn't immediately speak. Instead, he sits up slowly and takes a deep breath, cupping his palm over his mouth, those blown-out blue eyes staring hard and brooding at the apex of Mydei's thighs. Mydei blinks in confusion, adjusting himself slightly, very nearly feeling that newfound concept of personal shame under such a scrutinizing gaze. "Enjoying the view?" He asks dryly, spreading his thighs slightly farther as Phainon's come oozes down his stomach and inner thigh to bleed into the bedsheets below. "Your handiwork. Are you upset I said it was fast? I won't sugarcoat our competitions for you, Deliverer. That would be a disservice to who you are as an individual."

"If you'd let me," Phainon says slowly in a frayed voice, as if the last vestiges of his sanity are desperately clinging to his psyche, "I'd show you exactly what I can do. I wouldn't stop. I can…I can do more. I can be more."

Those brilliant cerulean irises snap back up to Mydei's face, hooded with that strange ominous emotion that Mydei all at once recognizes as hunger. "I'll show you what I can do," he promises again. "A new wager; I'll make you beg for me. I'll last long enough until you do. You'll lose your mind with my cock stuffed between your legs, and only then will I relent stamina-wise. Deal?"

Fascinating. What is it, exactly, that he thinks he can do? He's already proven himself weak to Mydei's body. He came so quickly and obediently, in a way Mydei is relatively obsessed with. But…a challenge is a challenge. A spark of newfound lust ignites within Mydei's core, and he sits up slowly, deliberately, until he's face-to-face with Phainon once more. He cannot stop the shit-eating grin from crawling up his cheeks, raising a hand to hook a finger into Phainon's choker for the second time that day, drawing him close into a slow and measured kiss.

It's half to measure how genuine he is and half just to taste him, the attractive curve of his pink lips much sweeter than anything his mind could conjure when alone. Phainon kisses back just as promising as his words had been, letting Mydei's tongue curl around his own, a sweet deep purr bubbling in his throat as his hand moves to Mydei's back, pressing him close. His taste still clings to Phainon's tongue, a slight salt of musk and sweat amidst the hot sweetness of Phainon's mouth. It's intoxicating. It's so easy to lose himself into the wet slick of his mouth, especially when Phainon proverbially bares his throat to him, allowing him to take the lead, take control.

He kisses like he means it—both the affection and the new competition rules. And he has an impressive enough recovery period for Mydei to genuinely consider it.

Mydei pulls away after a long moment, reeling with breathlessness, a long line of spit connected between both of their lower lips that snaps after a moment of quiet. Phainon is smiling now, too, but the sharpness of determination simmers within the obsessive promise in his gaze. "Deal," he says, running his tongue over his lips to collect the rest of Phainon off his lips, "but the Crown Prince of Kremnos does not beg, either for release or reprieve. You'll be hard-pressed to even get a 'please' out of me. And that's if you can even last that long when you're—"

The world spins as Mydei is unceremoniously shoved down once more, back hitting the bed beneath him with a solid 'thump'. He laughs, near-giddy with excitement, as Phainon presses the head of his cock against his still-drenched hole, his core thrumming slick in biological preparation and the expectation of pleasure.

"Alright, Deliverer," he sneers, managing to shove down the near-moan that bubbles in his throat as Phainon bottoms out in a messy pointed thrust, hands coming down like clamps to descend upon his hips, "show me what you can really do."

Hours later, Mydei—in between bouts of mind-numbing orgasms and half-yelped cries of "Deliverer!"—is staring to realize the mistake he's made.

"You," he heaves out in his latest inane rant as he's jostled by a wildly erratic series of thrusts, barely able to brace himself on his shaking elbows, Phainon driving in and out of him draped upon his back from behind, "you, wicked Deliverer, you must have lied, to me, somehow, about, oh, fuck—"

Phainon shudders in a deep breath, a wet dragging gasp through his chest. He buries his face into Mydei's shoulder with arms wrapped around his torso as if his very life depends on him fucking Mydei into oblivion. "Oh, Mydei," he moans in response, mouth and teeth nipping and drooling over the expanse of his shoulder like a dog, "Oh, Mydei, you feel so fucking good around my cock like this. So hot and so wet and s-so fucking tight…"

He's genuinely lost count of how many times he's climaxed.

It's been long enough for sunset to cast long streamers across the run of the room in orange fingers flickering across the bed and their bodies, the high noon left hours behind. Phainon has not relented even a bit since they started—hours ago? Days ago? Eons ago?—and rutted into him messy but machine-like, only coming a few times himself but bouncing back almost immediately after he had to shove his cock back into Mydei with renewed and determined vigor.

Each thrust is decidedly more wet than they had started, the oil not needed for how lewdly soaked Mydei's cunt is in both his own spend and Phainon's. The man behind him has become a beast, thrusting into him for his own pleasure in a way that betrays he's actually unimpeded by any sort of stamina issues whatsoever. When he finishes he merely folds Mydei into a new shape and continues his onslaught, whispering and cooing sweet nothings into his skin as if he's not entirely rewriting the known universe around the prince.

"You tricked," Mydei laments again, punching out words between thrusts as Phainon continues his assault, "you tricked me, Phainon, you, HKS, how did you—"

His body seizes up without warning, climax crashing into him like a boat helpless against the rocks at sea, and Mydei suddenly and in great clarity fully understands embarrassment when the moan that is pulled from his throat hits the heated air. It's an obscene long keen, a noise he'd prefer to go the rest of his life not knowing he was capable of making, his vision whiting out as he quivers beneath Phainon. Even now he's mind-numbingly horny, every part of him elastic and electric, his body taking Phainon like it's desperate to be fucked so entirely despite the exhaustion. "Fuck," he gasps, elbows nearly giving out beneath him, toes curling into nothing against the floor. "Fuck, oh, fuck, Phainon…"

He feels the walls of his hypersensitive cunt spasming wildly around the Deliverer as hi body moves to milk the man inside of him like he'd begged for earlier, each piston of his hips heated and purposeful through the pleasure nearly knocking him clean out. That would be—he can't pass out. That would be awful. The Crown Prince of Kremnos, laid low by a cock? His name would be the basis for the concept of 'personal shame' in his home-tongue. "Haven't," he pants, after he remembers how to use his mouth for something other than moaning, "you had your fill yet?! You're…you're mad…you're a dog, you're—you're a beast…"

Phainon's pace has not flagged in the slightest. "No," he breathes almost lovingly against Mydei's back, one hand crawling up his chest to toy with his pecs, squeezing them like they're stress relievers. "No, Mydei, gods above no. I can't—I haven't, I can't have enough. You're so beautiful…I fit perfectly in you like this, l-like you were made for my cock alone…I can't just pull out, Mydeimos, they'll have to drag me away from you—"

"Don't say such lewd things," Mydei snaps, sweat beading up and dripping off of him onto the sheets below. "This—this isn't for you—fuck—to become a freak! This is for, ah, hells, your endurance, which you clearly need no assistance with! You've somehow—somehow pulled the wool over my eyes, and I will…I will not stand for such…"

Mydei trails off, arms giving out underneath him as his strength finally begins to truly fail him. His chest collapses forward with a dull 'thump'. It's just so good, overstimulating and ionic through his veins, and he feels his eyes nearly roll in his head as he falls forward and moans a thick muffled noise into the mussed-up bedspread. He really could lose himself like this, dissolved in the pleasure consuming him. "HKS," he settles on hissing again over his shoulder, Phainon's hungry lips pressing hot wet kisses against the corner of his mouth and jaw. "How did you do it? How did you…make me…think…?!"

Phainon has followed him down but moves him up further until he's laying entirely face-down on the sheets, his weight pinning Mydei to the bed. He's careful to keep himself sheathed within Mydei but his knee moves to Mydei's thigh to press him further open, and at this new angle Phainon fucks into him so deep for a moment he swears he can feel him in the base of his throat with how thoroughly speared open he is. He slows his pace down slightly but each thrust is long and single-mindedly obsessive, the head of his cock nearly kissing his cervix and undoing him far quicker than before. "Mydeimos," Phainon rasps, one hand wrapping underneath his shoulder while the other snakes down his front toward his drenched sex, "I'd never lie to you or trick you. I've been letting you win the last few weeks because I love the look on your face when you do."

Rage cuts through the pleasure like a knife through the sternum. Letting him win? Letting him win?! Oh, he is going to absolutely kill Phainon. "What," Mydei bites in flat affect, flipping his head to the side and glaring at Phainon as hard as he can through the hazy veil of overstimulated tears budding on his lashes. "Dishonorable…Deliverer! You mean to tell me you've been—"

Phainon's terribly lithe digit finds the hood of his clit and rubs a circle into the sensitive bud of nerves. Mydei nearly comes again, stars erupting technicolor blinding behind his eyelids. He nearly forgets exactly what he was angry about as fresh and acute desire shoots through his body at the touch. "A-aah," is all he can manage instead, jaw hanging slack open as his eyelids slide lidded over his gaze. "N-no, I w-won't let you…without…knowing," he heaves out, desperately aware of how he sounds like a whore in heat, arm twitching down as if in feeble attempt to wrench Phainon's hand away from his cunt while he rails him.

But his hands are only good for uselessly fisting into the sheets rucked up around his head as his greedy hips meet every slick thrust Phainon rewards him with. "HKS," he snarls a third time, finding anger once more in the pit of his lust, "how d-dare you lie to me in such a way, fooling me with your false weaknesses…repaying my offer with deception…"

"I never lied to you, Mydei," Phainon whispers in a half-broken voice, each sentence peppered with those annoyingly soft kisses that flip his stomach in a million different ways. "I never—I just let you make assumptions and followed along with them. I wasn't going to do it forever. Even the crown prince needs to be brought low, sometimes. I'd planned on coming clean, soon."

His finger rubs with a little more pressure, more insistent, and Mydei actively fights off orgasm, panting and writing underneath him as his hips buck forward and back away from Phainon, into Phainon. He knows he must look a mess, hair plastered across his forehead, face shiny with sweat and pink with exertion, eyes near-rolled back in his head, jaw stapled open and drooling like he, too, is no better than a beast. "But you," he snarls still, sounding more animal than man, "didn't—didn't stop me from—gods, I'm so fucking close, Phainon, you have to—"

"Oh, Mydei, please come on my cock again," Phainon babbles in a voice slurred with lust, drawing wicked pictures across his sensitive clit. "You're so fucking gorgeous like this, all spread open for me, coming all over my hand and my cock in your cunt, falling apart underneath me, breathless because of me—"

Mydei climaxes so hard he's very certain he's somehow died as darkness explodes in spots across his vision, the world hazing over into a water-gauzed pleasure. This orgasm is a despicable roaring thing, a mouth and teeth ripping through his rational psyche to the seedy underneath like it seeks to release the most debauched and pornographic noises buried in his darkest dreams. His body tenses and shakes, stunned stupid by the pleasure crackling across his body for maybe the tenth time that evening, another wretched sound yanked from his throat to taint the Deliverer's ears.

"Phainon," is all he manages after his near-shout of pleasure, "Phainon, this has—has to end, gods above, you have to—"

"No," Phainon growls with the rapacity of a dog over it's meal, hand stilling but thrusts becoming more erratic as Mydei's greedy cunt laps at his cock, suckling at it in wild bursts of lust. It's so…fuck, maybe Mydei's the freak the way the possession of the syllable shoots another wave of his ebbing orgasm through him once more, punching the air from his chest as he gasps and bucks himself dumb back against Phainon. Oh, gods. Dog, he wants to spit, beast, freak, but fuck does he want to be possessed like this if this is how it feels.

Phainon drags his hand away from Mydei's clit and lifts it up to his mouth, the unmistakable sound of his tongue lathing unabashed over the fingers. He shudders through a particularly poignant thrust as if spurred on just by Mydei's taste. "No, Mydei, they'll—oh, Kephale, I can taste myself on you, so sweet and so fucking perfect, better than I ever imagined. A thousand fucking soldiers couldn't drag me off of you until I've had my fill. Your body's so honest and desperate for me, as desperate as I am for you. I haven't had enough."

"Then come," Mydei very nearly begs—but he stops himself, pride a wretched little reminder that he simply cannot beg, Phainon has to give in first—almost broken in by the relentless cock thrusting him into another dimension, "come in me, Deliverer, you have to, this has to end…somehow. Fuck. Fuck!"

The fact that he's still coherent is a miracle in and of itself but he feels his rationality slipping away with every new clench of his cunt around the cock absolutely destroying him, the wet slapping thud of Phainon's hips against his own enough to start to push him into insanity. It's—it's insane that all he can do is lie there and take it. If he had half his senses he'd torture Phainon beneath him with his body, lord his greed over his head as he cried and begged so pretty, but the tables have fastidiously turned with every powerful thrust Phainon delivers.

"We had a new wager," Phainon reminds him in a sharp silken voice, and Mydei feels the smile he presses into the back of his shoulder, teeth grazing a particularly mean line across a quickly healing hickey he'd adorned him with. "Did you already forget, Mydeimos? I won't stop until you beg me. I've proven my stamina, haven't I? Now all you need to do is beg in that pretty broken voice of yours. Then I'll release you. Or…release into you, hah."

Mydei growls a heretical string of swears and blends of the god's names in Kremnoan, burying his face in the sheets. It would be so easy to cave and beg him to stop, and he knows Phainon would immediately relent, but he does and will not beg. He will not. He won't beg for release and he won't beg for the overstimulation to end even if he feels the delightful inebriation of lust clouding his senses and slowly taking over his mouth anyways. Along with all common sense and awareness outside of being fucked silly. "I will not," he snaps in response, rutting back into Phainon's hips, stealing the air from the Deliverer's lungs as he tries to match his back-breaking pace. "I won't. I will not break like this, Deliverer."

His last word is a sneer as he lifts himself once more on trembling arms, grinning wild over his shoulder at Phainon taking his back, purposefully clenching around him as tight as he can.

"Then I guess I'll have to try something a little meaner," Phainon replies smoothly, and immediately strong arms are locked around Mydei's body to flip him facing the ceiling like he weighs nothing at all. He blinks in sudden surprise before all at once his lover looms above him and—Nikador's fury.

"Gods," Mydei nearly sobs as he takes in the Deliverer, a sound treacherously close to a hysterical laugh.

Phainon is a dream; his pale hair is tousled with exertion and sweat, eyes big and frantic with lust, golden pupils blown so large that they nearly consume the sweet blue of his irises. He's just as flushed as Mydei feels, perspiration dripping off his body onto Mydei's below him. His strong arms frame either side of Mydei's head as he gently but firmly repositions them, an action almost tender if not for his cock hard and insistent within the velvety walls of his cunt. He grabs a pillow from somewhere beyond and cups the back of Mydei's head, lifting it slightly until he can slot it nearly underneath. Every breath he takes as he moves is ragged and labored.

"You must be exhausted," Mydei croaks, unable to help himself, jerking his hips up slightly and absolutely relishing the little moan that crawls from Phainon's lips as he does so. He feels that enormous cock twitch within him, and he grins nearly loopy up at Phainon as he heaves with his own exhaustion. "Aren't you ready to call it quits, Deliverer? Look at you. Soaked in sweat and barely able to keep yourself up any longer. Laid low by the Crown Prince of Kremnos. Call it. You know you don't have much more in you."

Phainon hangs his head over Mydei, still breathing hard, but a trembling laugh bubbles up out of his throat. "Oh, Mydei," he huffs, a teasing pull of his name, "the only reason I stopped for a moment is to let you catch your breath. I'm doing you a favor, not myself. You feel amazing, don't get me wrong—but I could go forever. I'll fuck you until I find a way to stay hilted in you every hour of every day. I'll fuck you until the sun itself burns out."

The way he talks even now is debauched at best, absolute verbal filth that sends shivers down Mydei's spine in anticipation. He'd never balked away from bold speeches during their fights but this is electric, entirely new territory that Mydei is certain he can never get enough of. "Then keep fucking me, Deliverer," he rasps in response, lifting his trembling legs up to hook ankles around Phainon's lower back and forcing his hips deep into him once more, both of them grunting at the sudden burst of static between their pelvises, liquid heat oozing through. "You've made a lot of promises tonight. Let's see if you can keep them."

That deliciously dark look flickers in Phainon's gaze once more as he raises his head and levels Mydei with a cocky smirk. "If you're sure, Mydeimos," he hums, slowly drawing away until the wet heat of Mydei's cunt has completely relinquished his cock, only the sensitive head remaining brushing against his sensitive, puffy hole. "Kephale above. Look at you, absolutely drooling come out of your pretty pussy like that. Gods, Mydei. How much of me do you think you've taken tonight?"

Mydei grits his teeth through a fresh blush. "Put that mouth to better use," he pants, reaching up and flipping his hair off his damp throat and baring his neck to Phainon. He'd never just offer his throat to anyone, but Phainon is…a masterpiece is all his sex-addled brain can provide, as blue eyes snap to the expanse of flesh now available, expression flitting between awe and desire. Only Phainon gets the right to try and mark him. He's long since earned it. "And prove me wrong, Deliverer."

"Oh, Mydeimos," Phainon gasps, the head of his cock slowly pushing into Mydei once more, that delirious stretch branding his body again as he lowers his head and presses a reverent kiss to his collarbone. "Oh. Gods, you're still so tight for me. Clenching around me, pulling me into you. Can I…can I bite you, here?" The line of his nose nuzzles against the side of Mydei's neck. "I know—fuck, Mydei. You're twitching, I can feel you, it's like I could crawl into you like this—you're offering, but marks…?"

Even now he's so lewd. And facing him makes it a million times more intimate, it feeling like Phainon is nearly growing into him, every part of him touching Mydei as if he oozes into his body—his broad chest laid across his own, arms like vines around his shoulders and back, thighs pressed flexing against the skin of his own, cock buried once more in the velvety vise of his cunt. It's very nearly divine, but Mydei would never dare voice this. "That's what I offered," he says in a faint voice, heels dragging forward along Phainon's lower back, trying to yank him back into motion. "Go ahead."

Phainon doesn't ask twice. He surges forward and bites a wicked exquisite bruise into Mydei's flesh, and at the same time thrusts back out and into him. But this time, once he hilts he grinds his hips mean and perfect into Mydei's. The effect it has on him is instant and destructive.

"Oh," Mydei says, because it's really all he can say as his head cottons out into something treacherously close to a mind-break, the only thing tethering him to reality the fringes of his pride still desperately hanging on. He didn't know—he didn't know that could happen, or that something like that could feel so good. He arcs up into Phainon and the Deliverer catches him, keeping him plastered to his sweat-soaked chest, teeth still carving pretty golden bite-marks into his throat. "Oh, oh…"

His eyelashes flutter. The world starts to fizzle out into just them, hypnotic and delicious and entirely thoughtless. His head spirals, light with insanity and heavy with exhaustion. It's heavenly, Phainon pressed up against him so tightly that with the new grind he's found his lower stomach stimulates Mydei's clit, his nails drawing lines of golden ichor down the other's spine. It really is like he's trying to crawl in, like he said—the head of his cock just barely brushes his cervix, such a big unwieldy thing fracturing whatever is left of him. "O-oh," he stutters again in a deeper tone, hips jerking up inadvertently, "Ph-Phainon, don't stop, that feels so fucking good. I'm going to come again. I'm…I'm getting close—"

"Yes, beautiful," Phainon gasps, voice nearly unrecognizable with the deepness of pleasure turning it into a needy guttural moan, still absolutely obliterating him with that beautiful rub of his hips into Mydei's, "that's all I want. Make a mess of me, please. Come all over my cock again. Your body is fucking perfect, Mydeimos, so fucking needy and hungry. Do you feel—do you feel how desperate your cunt is, to drink me up? You've taken so much of my own come and you want more, greedy and tight. I can't ever—I can't pull out. I need to die here, between your legs. I very well may."

"Don't—ohh, fuck—don't you dare," Mydei groans as he no doubt leaves a litter of golden-purple bruises across the span of Phainon's back, gripping him so tightly against his own chest that he wouldn't be surprised if he accidentally broke the Deliverer's shoulder in the throes of pleasure. "Don't you dare…! Where did—where did this madness even c-come from?! You're a freak, entirely obsessed with shoving yourself into my cunt—"

"I adore you, Mydeimos," Phainon confesses, big pitted pupils peering up at him wide and needy from where his mouth drools over Mydei's collarbone, "and I have for—for so long. I dreamt of this night after night, of how gorgeous you'd look, golden eyes all blissed out as I fucked you senseless. What obscene noises you'd make—how you'd moan my name, how you'd beg for me to come in you over and over."

Oh, fuck. A mirror of his own feelings, his own desires. Phainon had wanted to say yes the second Mydei asked. The revelation feels like it unlocks something in him, a new all-encompassing wave of pleasure rocking into Mydei's head, waves disintegrating the sands of the shore. He begins to thrust again, unwinding one of his arms from Mydei's back to wet the tip of his thumb in his mouth and then press it into Mydei's clit to play it into circles once more. It feels so fucking good that Mydei's eyes roll into the back of his head, body trembling like a leaf hapless in a storm, very treacherously close to his own breaking point. Pleasure crackles in his body, his blood, his bones. He feels splintered into a thousand pieces, each one overwhelmed, each one belonging firmly and entirely to the Deliverer.

"Yes," Phainon continues, expression darkening again as his teeth bite down hard enough to pull forth a pang of pain, golden blood glittering on Mydei's chest, "that's it, my prince, go ahead. I see how close you are to breaking. Let me break you under me, Mydei. I'll take such good care of you, so tight and wet around me, keeping me locked between your thighs like this. Do you want me to fill you up again? I will. I can. I'm so close, again, ready to come into your womb—"

"No," Mydei gasps through a sharp and precise stab of desire cutting the air from his lungs. "N-no, Phainon, this—you can't, not again! I can't—I'm so close, oh! D-Don't—"

"You can stop this, love," Phainon purrs into his chest, fingers tangling in his hair and yanking hard and delicious, ripping Mydei's head back to expose the sensitive length of his throat.

And then he really gets mean, a calculated teasing grin growing like a cut on his cheeks. "All you have to do is say 'please'. That's it. I'll fill you full of my seed and fuck you pregnant if it's what you want. I'd kneel on your floor day and night and drink from your cunt, your personal sex toy. For you. I'd do anything for you, Mydei. I'm so—gods, even now, after hours, you're still practically glued to me, your body perfectly molded to the shape of me in you." His sinful lips kiss and bite at the hollow of Mydei's throat, leaving their own healing bruises in their wake, uncaring and ungentle in the rise of his own orgasm. "Gods, Mydei, I am going to—I'm so close, now. Please beg me. I won't stop. I can't stop until you do."

It's sensory overload. His legs are weak and useless, ankles locked around Phainon's lower back for dear life as the walls of his cunt tremor like it's something that's come alive, a hungry mouth like Phainon had said to suckle him in further. Phainon's mouth is it's own monster across his throat—Phainon's hands wrap him up in a practically loving embrace and keep him flushed so tightly against his chest that he can feel his heartbeat hammering into Mydei's. And his debauched words; it's insane to think these sentences are pouring out from his Deliverer, just like in the dreams he's had about the other, absolute worship and adoration in every syllable.

To know that Phainon has dreamt of him, too…he doesn't catch the word quick enough as Mydei shudders out a broken wail of, "Please—"

But as soon as it passes his lips the dam within him breaks and he's flooded with pure want that overrides everything else, swallowing up whatever pride he had remaining and wiping his psyche entirely mindless. "Please," Mydei whimpers, arcing up into Phainon as the world blurs into saltwater and the white burst of orgasm, "please, Phainon, gods above, come in me, please, it feels so good, you feel so good in me, I'm coming—!!"

It rips his frayed mind in two and all he knows for a very long moment is pure lust and magma, warmth roaring through him and turning his body to liquid under it's entire consumption of his being. He nearly screams and he can only grip Phainon as he continues to rut him, hips stuttering in response to the shudder and suck of his greedy cunt. It's so—gods, it's like being burned to a crisp in a fire if there was no pain with the action, every piece of him methodically dissolved in the absolute devastation of orgasm. His vision spots before whiting out. He thrusts back as he chases his climax mechanically. A string of syllables babble themselves out of his mouth, some desperate combination of 'please' and 'fuck' and 'Phainon' that he couldn't bother to sift through even if he wanted.

Phainon's teeth pierce his neck and his voice groans around the wound, a quick stab of pain melting into the red-hot blaze destroying Mydei's reality around him. "Mydei," he mumbles into Mydei's throat as his mouth clamps down hard as if he means the mark to last forever, "Mydei, Mydei, my Mydei, my beautiful, gorgeous, I'm coming, I can't, I'm—"

And the wet heat of his come spills molten in Mydei's core, beautifully close to his cervix, and something untamed and animalistic wants the seed to breech and the breeding to take. He can only squeeze Phainon and buck up into this feeling, gasping and moaning and clawing and pistoning back and forth until he finally descends slowly back into his conscious like his soul has relocated his body and brought him back from the land of the dead once more.

They sit there in each other, shivering. Phainon's teeth still sit notched in his throat and when he breathes wet and ragged they tear little sharp lines into the skin. It feels good, Mydei thinks distantly. Everything feels gooey and soft and warm, the hard planes of Phainon's body relaxed into his own like. His body relaxes its arc and he looks glassy-eyed down at the Deliverer. He's even more beautiful just after release, eyes slid closed but mouth coated in gold around his neck, expression easing up from needy to sated.

He releases Mydei's throat with a wet 'pop' and a satisfying bout of pain snapping through Mydei's neck and shoulder. "Mydei," he says, eyes still closed, voice peculiarly hoarse, "you're killing me."

Mydei coughs out a dry laugh. "You don't have the right to say that after obliterating me," he says equally as hoarsely. "Plus, you're still alive, aren't you?"

"No, I mean you're squeezing the hells out of me still," Phainon gasps.

"Oh." Mydei was wondering why his fingers kind of hurt. He lets Phainon go, arms falling trembly and flighty to his sides as Phainon gasps for air, blue eyes shuttering open with a familiar tired grin. "My previous sentence still stands. You live."

"Not for a lack of trying, I suppose. I'd really be fine dying buried in you."

"It would be an inconvenience," Mydei huffs, and Phainon smiles much warmer in response, eyes lidded with a soft affection that makes his heart thrum in an odd rhythm.

"You begged," he notes, "and it was—Mydeimos, it was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever known." He presses a worshiping kiss to the center of his sternum, carefully withdrawing himself until his half-hard cock (half-hard, again? He'll be the permanent death of Mydei if he really let him keep going) leaves Mydei's cunt nearly gushing slick and come upon the sheets below. After being railed for so long it's nearly foreign to be empty, his own body devouring the feeling of being fucked full. "You really are incredible."

"You got lucky," Mydei huffs, too tired to put up a fight about the incessant comments. He likes them, anyways, even if he'd never say it. Phainon is like a devout follower and sometimes it's far too much, but if he can honor him in the bedroom like this then it's not to be always avoided. "It will not happen again."

Phainon perks up in excitement. "But we can do this again, yes?"

Yes, Mydei thinks, we are doing this every night for the rest of both our lives. Instead, he says, "Shut up and get down here." He twitches his arm in a 'come-hither' motion.

Mydei's head falls against the pillow with a gentle feathery 'thud' as Phainon bunches up into him, arms wrapping tight around his torso while snuggling against his chest. "Genuinely, though," he says, voice scraping through his raw throat, palm running up and down the Deliverer's strong muscled back thoughtfully, "how did you hide such stamina from me? That's the endurance you should have been putting into fighting. I know you said you wanted to watch me win, but the racing, as well…you really put effort into losing and making yourself look weak? Why would you do that?"

"Ah," Phainon says, grinning sheepishly up at Mydei from his chest. "The race was, um, because I actually lost. I got…distracted. But it's one race in the grand scheme of things, Mydeimos. It can hardly be considered toward my stamina as a whole, can it? I just never bothered to argue your point or correct you. You got that look on your face that told me you've been considering this for a while, and I wanted to honor whatever you came up with—"

"What," Mydei seethes in a tired anger, frowning deep down at Phainon, "in Nikador's name could have distracted you from a race?"

Phainon's smile slips lopsided, eyes lidding slightly again. "You…cut a rather attractive figure in general," he explains, fingertips drumming lightly across Mydei's stomach, "but even more so when you're covered in sweat and breathing heavily. There was…something I had to, ah, hide so you would not notice."

Mydei's anger and annoyance is so thunderous that for a moment he feels as though he can channel Strife and vengeance all without the Coreflame. "Deliverer," he says in a quiet deadly tone, staring daggers up at the ceiling above them, hand tensing hard against Phainon in case he tries to bolt from his wrath, "do you mean to tell me that you purposefully threw our sparring matches because your dick got hard?"

Phainon pulls at him slightly. "Uh, aha," he chuckles in audible nervousness, almost as if he actually is attempting to run. "Well, I suppose, that this confession could be construed as something similar—"

Mydei's free hand snaps to Phainon's chin, yanking his face up to meet his eyeline. He knows his rage is tamped by his appearance but he dredges up all the ire in his body and levels it molten and frigid all at once at the ridiculous Deliverer's frozen face. "Never," he enunciates clearly, "ever, ever do that again. You dishonor me and yourself. We will continue to spar, and you will never throw a match again because you think I am beautiful. You will either win with honor or lose with it. Otherwise I will open the underworld with my bare hands and throw you headlong down into it for you to face eternal torture. Do you understand me, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae?"

Phainon's face drops to a flat terror. He nods once, firm and promising. "I understand," he says faintly. "I'm—I'm sorry, Mydei. I wasn't going to do it forever…but you're right. I shouldn't have done it at all. I just adore you, and treasure your pride as much as your humility."

"Then earn it," Mydei seethes, but he lets his grip soften and pull Phainon's head down to his chest once more, moving it up to his pale hair to card through the soft locks. "In our next brawl you will keep your lust off of the battlefield. Save that ridiculous stamina for the bedroom."

Phainon relaxes into him again fully, snuggling into Mydei's chest. "So we are doing this again!" He states in an unfortunately earned confidence, pretty lips curling into a smile against Mydei's skin.

"Obviously," Mydei addresses the ceiling with a mean smile. "I need to pay you back, Deliverer. For your falsehoods, of course."

"Of course. W-wait, what?"