The sun streams in through the window and across the pages of Trixie’s notebook.
It’s early afternoon, and he’s settling in to write with his favourite pen, the pink ballpoint that glides across the page and never smudges. His desk is pushed right up to the window in his apartment, overlooking the trees in the courtyard below. It’s spring, and the blossoms are starting to open one by one, scattering pretty pink petals across into the complex’s parking lot.
Trixie has had the idea for this song percolating for the last few days, slowly taking shape in the notes app on his phone. He likes to write songs in one go, to sit down and just go line by line, start to finish, if he can. He’s blocked off this whole afternoon to work on it, and he’s excited to dig in.
He had a proper breakfast, showered when he got home from the gym. He’s wearing comfy clothes, a nice pair of joggers and a soft tee, the cut off sleeves exposing his arms and sides. He’s got his tea steeping within reach, his Hummingbird tuned and at the ready, his phone face down on the desk; all devices off.
Conditions are literally the most ideal they could be.
Except for the fact that every day for the past week, without fail, Trixie’s downstairs neighbour has been blasting music at a volume that should be considered inhumane to the local fauna, himself included.
Trixie doesn’t make a point of socializing with his neighbours. He’s generally not interested in what they’re up to, and not interested in getting invites to the monthly building barbecues. He also frequently picks up his Postmates in his underwear; it feels like he might get shamed into putting on clothes by the lady who lives across the hall if he actually knows her real name.
The point is, Trixie never thought about his downstairs neighbour, like literally at all before this past week. He didn’t think about them when he dropped and broke that giant ceramic pot trying to transplant his snake plant. He didn’t think about them when he dropped a drill on his foot, installing hangers in his bathroom and screamed like he was being murdered. He certainly didn’t think of them when he was raucously fucking his ex boyfriend in the bedroom above theirs.
Today, the music starts up while Trixie is midway through a line, his guitar in his lap. He grits his teeth, his pen stalling on the page.
It sounds like it’s fucking Bjork. He is in fact very certain that it’s Bjork, because the volume that his neighbour is playing their music means that he can clearly hear the tinny lyrics of Five Years coming through whatever shit speakers they’re using.
“You downstairs motherfucker,” Trixie runs a hand down over his face and groans. He throws his pen down, the neck of his Hummingbird secure in one hand, and gets up from his desk. “The only reason you could possibly need your music that loud is if you were planning to listen from my apartment!” he yells at the floor.
There’s no response. Of course there isn’t. They’re probably lucky if they still have eardrums left after the full week of this nonsense. Trixie lets a long breath out through his nose and lifts the teabag out of his mug, setting it on the nearby saucer. He takes a slow, deliberate sip of tea and tries to zen the fuck out.
It’s fine, he’s worked in worse conditions.
He tries to go back to picking out the melody he had going, walking around his apartment in slow circles. He can hear the grating sound of the song’s beat through the floor, feels the reverb of the noise travel up through the soles of his feet. It’s not even like he thinks Bjork is particularly bad, it’s just that at this volume, it feels like he needs to pop a cork to release all the pressure that’s building up inside his skull.
There’s a brief moment of silence, and he thinks, thank god, maybe that’s it, but the music starts up again with the next track on the album.
Trixie sets down his guitar and gives one more effort at calming down. He gets himself into downward dog, focusing on the stretch through the back of his calves and thighs, breathing deliberately in through his nose and out through his mouth. He forces his heels down against the hardwood, the tension as he angles his hips echoing the coiling tightness he feels behind his ears and up the back of his head.
When the music clicks over into a third track, Trixie feels the fire in his belly ignite.
“Okay, you know what? Fuck this and fuck you,” He mutters, getting up from where he’s been trying to relax in child’s pose in the middle of his living room floor. He grabs his keys out of the bowl near the door, shoving his feet into a pair of shoes.
Trixie stops to look at himself in the mirror before he goes. He grabs a black hat out of the closet and crams it on his head backwards, deciding he looks what, butch enough? He doesn’t have time to pick the impulse apart because his legs are carrying him swiftly out the door, straight to the stairwell.
The floors in this building are all laid out exactly the same, and Trixie stops when he gets to the apartment directly below his. Number 237. The music can be heard through the door, a steady thrum of bizarre tones. It’s a wonder that nobody else has complained. Maybe they have, and Trixie just doesn’t know about it, because he doesn’t talk to his neighbours. God.
He shakes himself out, like a dog, and knocks firmly on the door before he has a chance to think about what a stupid idea this is. It swings slowly open. What kind of psycho just leaves their shit fully open like that?
“Uh, hello?” Trixie calls out, poking his head through the threshold. He tries to pitch his voice down, like he does when he thinks someone’s going to give him trouble for being a fag. It still comes out kind of bitchy sounding, which, whatever.
“In here!” A voice calls over the warbling of Bjork’s singing. Trixie follows the sound of it, because he’s too activated to stop and think about whether entering a mentally unsound stranger’s apartment is a good idea. He rounds the corner into the living room, and the strange voice says something he can’t hear.
His neighbour turns down the volume on the stereo with a remote -- Trixie’s entire body relaxes slightly, like the pressure in the room has just equalized -- and repeats, “You’re not Fena.”
“No, you complete asshole, I live upstairs-” Trixie starts, and then cuts himself off as his mouth goes dry at the sight of his neighbour.
The guy is fucking hot.
He’s maybe a few inches shorter than Trixie, with a body that’s lithe and toned, immediately apparent because he’s naked except for a small pair of beige shorts. Tattoos cover his arms and legs, a mixture of religious iconography, tarot, and ooky spooky shit. His head is shaved, and his jaw is rough with what looks like a few days of stubble. His eyes are so fucking blue, and it feels like he’s looking straight through Trixie with them.
“Hi, hello,” He says. “Will you do me a small favour and hold that?” He unscrews the top on a jar of black powder and hands the red plastic lid to Trixie, who takes it. Then he takes the jar and upends it over his head, showering himself with black soot.
“Okay well, listen, I just came down here to tell you to turn down your music,” Trixie says, feeling his ears go red as he tries not to watch the guy rub black powder all over his body.
“Mhmm,” His neighbour says, rubbing the dust down his arms. He blows out a puff of breath and a small sprinkling of charcoal falls to the floor. “Sorry, I’ve just been filming performances all week, I have this fuckin’ show at the end of the month and I’m not nearly as far along as I thought I’d be at this moment in time.”
It’s after he says that, that Trixie registers the equipment set up around the room. A blank sheet taped up to serve as a backdrop, large rectangles of paper laid out on the ground, a camera set up on a tripod near the far wall.
“You do… performance art?” Trixie asks, putting the pieces together.
“Yeah,” The guy nods and sticks out his hand like he means to shake Trixie’s, but thinks better of it since it’s covered in charcoal. He cranes his head to look over his shoulder. “My friends call me Katya- hey, is my back covered at all?”
He turns and Trixie takes a look. There’s a dusting of powder over the tops of his shoulders, down over the tattoos at the centre of his back, between his muscles.
“Like, not really?” Trixie shrugs, and Katya frowns, thrusting the jar in Trixie’s direction, sending another small black puff into the air. His eyes flick briefly up and down Trixie’s body, and Trixie reflexively tugs his joggers away from his dick.
“Care to give me a hand?” Katya asks, shaking the jar a little for emphasis.
“Are you serious?” Trixie wrinkles his nose, but he sets the lid down on the nearest surface and takes the jar from Katya’s hand anyway. “You don’t even know me. I like, fully broke into your house.”
“I left it unlocked,” Katya says, and turns around, shifting his shoulders, presenting his back. “So like, realistically speaking, I think it could be a mutual agreement. All over, please.”
Katya taps one of his own shoulders, and Trixie steps closer, shaking out some of the charcoal powder into his hand. He gingerly reaches and brushes his hand across the planes of Katya’s back, a dark, matte smudge following in its wake. Trixie watches as small specks fall down and leave spots on the crest of Katya’s ass, the glide of chalky powder across warm skin keeping him rooted to the spot.
“So what’s your name, handsome?”
“Huh?” Trixie asks, holding his sooty black hand out in front of him as he works.
“You said I don’t know you. What’s your name? I told you mine,” Katya states matter of factly.
There’s absolutely no way that Katya is his actual real name, which is why Trixie just goes, “It’s Trixie.”
Katya swivels around, and Trixie takes a step back, getting a bit of powder on his shoes.
“Of course it is,” Katya says, hands on his hips. What is that supposed to mean?
“Okay, so listen Trixie, thank you very much for the help,” He reaches out and gently takes the jar from Trixie’s grip.
“I still have to finish filming this video,” Katya jerks his thumb in the direction of the camera, which Trixie belatedly notices has a small, blinking, red light near the lens. He feels the rest of his face go hot.
“But- but!” Katya reaches out and grasps Trixie’s hand, the one that’s already covered with black powder. “I think you’re very attractive, and I would absolutely love to have sex with you in say, an hour, hour and a half? You busy?”
“Oh my god,” Trixie says. Is this guy for fucking real?
“You said you live above me, right? Like right above me?” Katya asks, clasping his other hand over top of Trixie’s. “Let me finish this up, and if you’re down to clown just leave your door unlocked. Otherwise, total amnesty, no questions asked, mama.”
“I- Okay,” Trixie says. Katya pats his hand and smiles, his eyes bright beneath the black powder caking his lashes. Trixie glances over at the camera again, self conscious. “Um, it’s 337, then. My apartment.”
Katya honest to god winks at him.
“Okay, I have to go right now,” Trixie says, extracting his hands from Katya’s grip. He dusts them off as best he can, his palms a muddy grey colour, and adjusts his hat on his head.
Katya beams at him and Trixie looks at him dumbstruck for a moment before he goes, “Oh my god, bye!”
The first thing Trixie does when he gets back to his apartment is lock the door out of instinct, and then properly wash his hands, scrubbing the black dust out from underneath his nails. He pulls his hat off his head, swallowing, and hangs it back up in the closet near the door.
He should be institutionalized for even considering this at all. He rubs the back of his hand over his mouth, scratching his nose. His door is locked still, so he has like, fifty-four to eighty-four minutes to decide. He can hear the music thumping again downstairs, but this time it sends a tremor of anticipation up his spine.
Trixie lets his hand skate down over the actual semi he’s sporting in his sweats. Maybe he is just that stupid. He stands there for a moment, willing his blood pressure down. One floor below him, Katya has finished the Bjork album and moved onto what sounds like Fiona Apple. This fucker is sad and gay.
“Okay, you know what? It’s fine. It’s fine!” Trixie laughs, pitched high. Before he has a chance to think better of it, he walks over and unlocks his front door. It’s not even a big deal. He’s totally allowed.
“You gay fucking fag,” He mutters to himself, and goes to his bathroom to douche, like an idiot.
By the time Katya politely knocks twice, Trixie has tidied his entire apartment. It’s a criminally faggy impulse, but Katya’s never seen his place before so there’s no way he’ll know. Whatever.
“It’s open,” Trixie calls, his voice barely wavering, as Katya opens the door and breezes right in.
Katya is wearing a black sweater and shorts, and his skin has the slightly pink glow of someone who’s scrubbed intensely. There’s barely any trace of the charcoal powder left, except for a bit in the crease of his eyes, around his brows. It makes his eyes look smoky and intense, offset by the grin on his face as Trixie gets up from his couch to greet him.
“Real nice place you’ve got here, Beatrice,” Katya says in a strangled rasp, and Trixie squawks out a laugh, leaning against the wall in the entryway, in a completely casual way.
“I mean, I’ve done what I can with what I’ve been given,” Trixie says, letting his eyes linger on the bow of Katya’s mouth. He watches Katya track his gaze and swallows. Katya steps closer, slowly, like he doesn’t want to spook Trixie, and his voice is soft and teasing when he speaks.
“I’d like to kiss you now, if that timeline is feeling alright for you,” He says, and Trixie is already dipping his head to meet Katya’s mouth. He feels himself stopped by a firm hand to his chest and blinks down at Katya, his brows raised in a question.
“Wait- you’re gay, right?” Katya asks. He sounds serious, but his eyes betray the joke. “I just like to know if a guy is gay, first.”
Trixie snorts and grabs Katya roughly by the front of his shirt. “Yes, you idiot, I’m gay. I’m a big, gay, homosexual. Now shut up, please, I invited you into my home, out of the kindness of my heart, and I want to do gay things with you.”
Katya trills, letting his hands settle hot against Trixie’s hips, and kisses him finally. Trixie shifts so his back is pressed up against the wall, flattening his palm against Katya’s chest, feeling the heat of his body, even though his sweater.
“Wow, you’re really good at that,” Katya says against Trixie’s mouth. The rasp of his stubble drags along Trixie’s chin as he speaks, and Trixie giggles.
“Yeah, honey, I’m tryna be,” Trixie says, kissing Katya again, tonguing into his mouth. He feels Katya make a small sound and nudge his knee between his thighs. “If you keep runnin’ your mouth I won’t get to show you what else I’m good at too.”
Katya lets out a shotgun burst of laughter and pushes his forehead against Trixie’s sternum. It makes something that feels like pride, affection, desire, swell up in Trixie’s chest.
“Alright bitch, I see how it is,” Katya says, pressing his mouth against Trixie’s, nipping at his lower lip as he pulls back. “Come on then, show me your room.” He pivots on his heels, letting Trixie appreciate the way it emphasizes his calves and the strange, Bosch looking tattoos covering them.
“Unless you want me to eat your ass on the couch?” Katya asks, and Trixie’s mouth falls open, just a little. “Cause I’m flexible, I don’t mind, your house your rules-”
“Shut up, oh my god,” Trixie rolls his eyes and grabs Katya by his stupid hand, taking him down the short hallway to his bedroom.
Katya is laughing when Trixie spins him into the room and shuts the door behind them. He’s laughing when Trixie crowds into his space and walks him back towards the bed, pushing him down onto it. He’s laughing until Trixie pulls his own shirt off over his head and climbs right on top of him. Then Trixie grinds his ass down against Katya’s dick, and he isn’t laughing anymore.
Trixie is truly a bottom’s bottom, but shutting Katya up this way feels so good. He rubs his hands up Katya’s chest, and when he feels Katya strain against his touch he pushes down and holds him there.
“Oh, she’s bossy, huh?” Katya palms Trixie’s thighs, rolling his hips up under his weight.
Trixie is certainly not as muscled as Katya is, but he’s six feet of something. Katya moves like he’s going to get up again and Trixie holds, one of his thumbs pressing slightly into the hollow of Katya’s throat.
“You are a maniac,” Trixie says, leaning down to kiss him, sloppy. Katya kisses back like he’s got nowhere to go, calm and meandering. He feels a thrum underneath his hands from Katya’s voice, rumbling deep in his chest.
The pace feels far too slow for the way that Trixie’s heart is hammering in his throat like he’s just run a marathon. He leans almost his whole weight along Katya’s body, feeling pressure and heat, and Katya cranes his neck up as far as Trixie will let him go, catching Trixie’s lower lip between his teeth and sucking.
“Oh my god, you need to take your fucking clothes off, like, literally right now,” Trixie says, pushing himself up and rolling off Katya to the side. He covers his face with both hands for a moment, inhaling deep. His blood pounds in his ears, and he’s sure his dick is already so wet.
“Alright alright,” Katya bounces up off the bed, pulling his sweater over his head in one easy motion. “Gawd, you are so much fun already, aren’t you?” Trixie looks up at him, because he’s not sure if it’s a read or not. The insects tattooed on Katya’s collarbones catch his eye, flexing as Katya bends and shucks his shorts and underwear to the floor. Trixie fucking gulps at the sight of his dick.
“You like that, yeah?” Katya asks, and Trixie barely contains a shriek, he’s so turned on and annoyed by this hot fucking asshole. “Lemme see the rest of you, Trixie,” Katya says, kneeling between Trixie’s legs where they hang over the edge of the bed. He fists his hands in the thighs of Trixie’s joggers and pulls until they come off, dragging his underwear down a few inches with them.
“God dammit,” Trixie says, resting one of his hands on Katya’s scalp as Katya dips his head to nose at the big fucking wet spot on the front of Trixie’s underwear. He’d be embarrassed, but he’s so incredibly hard it doesn’t even matter.
“Mhmm,” Katya agrees, his breath hot on Trixie’s balls through the fabric of his underwear. “Hey, do you mind if-” He starts to ask, fingers tucking into Trixie’s waistband.
“I douched,” Trixie blurts, sitting up on his elbows, his cheeks hot. “Uh, so. That’s, yeah.”
Katya looks absolutely delighted and sits back on his heels, bracing himself with two steady hands on Trixie’s knees.
“Would you mind terribly if I asked you to take these off, then? And get on your stomach?” He asks, sweetly, although Trixie can see the way his nostrils flare, and the red flush traveling down Katya’s neck and chest.
“Oh sure,” Trixie says, lifting his ass to pull his underwear the rest of the way off, flipping over on the bed. He gets his knees up underneath himself and looks over his shoulder; sees Katya regarding him, hungrily.
“Ugh, if this isn’t one of the most finely sculpted derrieres I have ever seen,” Katya murmurs, almost to himself, and he smooths his hands over Trixie’s ass, giving him a small smack. It makes Trixie groan and drop his head, resting his brow on one clenched fist. “Shut up,” He says to the sheets, and Katya chuckles.
There’s a little shifting, and Trixie feels Katya’s touch glide up his calves and the backs of his thighs. When he feels the first swipe of Katya’s tongue, a tremor goes through his whole body, and he lets out a pitchy noise that makes Katya snuffle against the crease of his thigh. He feels vulnerable and impatient, as if he’s never had someone go down on him before.
“Feels good, does it, honey?” Katya asks, and the pet name burns through Trixie’s insides like a firecracker. He manages to nod, weakly, and whimpers an affirmative. “You tell me if you’re gettin too close, alright?” Katya says, smoothing one hand down Trixie’s flank. “I wanna really lay you out, eat your ass good, maybe fuck you a little. If you feel amenable to that trajectory. You’re making some really pretty sounds and I’m thinkin’ you’ll sound so good with my dick in this perfect keister.”
Trixie laughs, a warbly sound, and reaches down to palm over his cock. “I can’t believe I invited a stranger into my house and he’s going to fuck me to death. They’re going to have to put out a warrant for your arrest.”
“Bitch, you’re so mouthy,” Katya chuckles, and licks into Trixie’s ass in a way that makes him squirm. “It’s cute,” He says, and Trixie can feel him dripping saliva down onto his asshole, pushing it around slick with the soft touch of his tongue.
It makes Trixie feel like he’s being turned inside out, and he has to just grip the base of his cock and focus on his breath for a while. He feels Katya’s hands kneading the meat of his ass, and he can hear the sounds Katya is making, low and needy in his throat.
Trixie’s blood boils, he feels his spine tighten, and he has to reach back and swat at Katya, like, “Stop, stop, oh my god- I can’t.”
Katya sits up, the lower half of his face glistening with saliva, his eyes blown and heavy-lidded. He looks like a wild animal.
“Get on top of me,” Trixie demands, crawling up the bed to settle on his back against the pillows. He spreads his legs and pulls Katya between them, yanking him up to smash their mouths together.
Their cocks drag clumsily against one another, the hot slide of skin on skin making Trixie moan. Katya slides his hands down Trixie’s arms, his fingers tracing the tendons in his wrists.
“God,” Trixie says, letting his legs fall further apart as Katya takes one of his hands and pins it above his head, just holding it there. He braces his other arm alongside Trixie’s head, resting his fingers atop Trixie’s peach fuzz scalp, and just keeps kissing, firm, hard, insistent. It feels a lot more intimate than it should, considering this is a literal insane stranger he’s hooking up with.
Katya moans into his mouth, which should be kind of gross, but the way it makes Trixie’s teeth reverberate with the sound sends Trixie’s brain offline. Katya lets go of his wrist, and he doesn’t say anything about it but Trixie keeps it right where he placed it, fist clenched above his head.
Bending his head, Katya mouths at Trixie’s neck, starts sucking in a way that almost hurts and Trixie thinks about how it might leave a mark. If it does, he’s going to have to pretend to be pissed, when the truth is it makes his guts sizzle and pop, and he thinks he can feel precome drip down onto his own stomach at the thought.
He wonders if Katya somehow knows, licking sloppily down Trixie’s torso, flicking his tongue over one of Trixie’s nipples in a way that makes him jerk violently. Trixie grips the meat of Katya’s shoulder and clamps down until he pulls a sharp sound out of Katya’s throat.
“Oh my gawd-” Katya bites out, finally getting his hand on Trixie’s dick. “You’re so big.” His voice sounds almost reverent. He slides his fingers down, tugging Trixie’s foreskin, already so slick with precome.
“Can I please blow you?” Katya asks, his mouth against Trixie’s hipbone, licking along towards his navel. “I really want to blow you, I wanna get that fat cock in my mouth.”
Trixie does really, really want that, and he lets out a small, impatient sound.
“Katya, nothing would make me fucking happier, but if you are not imminently inside of me,” Trixie threatens, and he digs his nails into Katya’s shoulder until Katya swats him and mouths ow, his eyes bright with laughter.
“You need it that bad, huh?” Katya asks, and he leans briefly over the edge of the bed, fishing around for his shorts. Trixie is grateful because it means Katya doesn’t see the way his mouth drops open at that comment, and instead he rolls over to grab the lube he keeps in his bedside drawer, tossing it onto the sheets.
“You’ve been such a gracious host,” Katya says as he crawls back up the bed, condom in hand, sitting back on his heels. He tears open the wrapper and rolls it on, quiet and careful. Trixie watches his hands and thinks about how hard Katya must be, how he hasn’t seen him get his hand on his dick even once yet. He swallows again, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth.
“The least I can do is repay your hospitality,” Katya says, and Trixie pulls his knees up, ready to be bent in fucking half. They kiss again, Trixie chasing Katya’s mouth as he pulls away and settles between Trixie’s thighs. He grabs the lube, flicking open the cap and drizzling a generous amount onto his fingers, giving his dick a quick tug before he moves to slick up Trixie’s hole.
When Katya pushes his first finger in up to the knuckle, Trixie rolls his hips towards Katya’s hand, his fingers clenching nothing, impatient. He whines until Katya gets the hint and inserts a second, pressing the flat of his other hand down against Trixie’s pelvis.
“I want you to touch yourself,” Trixie says, grateful for the way that saying that makes Katya’s breath come out in a whoosh. “I wanna see, Katya, please.”
By some grace of god, Katya says nothing, just pushes a third finger into Trixie and wraps his hand around the base of his own cock, fucking in and out of Trixie and stroking himself with the same rhythm. The room is mostly silent, except for the ragged sound of their breathing, the slick glide of skin on skin.
When Trixie feels like he can’t take it anymore, he grabs Katya’s wrist and goes, “Come on, you gotta fuck me already.”
“You’re the boss, Tracy,” Katya says easily, and pulls his fingers out, wiping them off on Trixie’s inner thigh. Trixie wrinkles his nose, a face that means gross, and Katya, as if he can read his mind, says “I know, but you need my cock in you like, yesterday, so.”
Katya lines himself up and starts to push into Trixie slowly, panting shallowly. Trixie watches his eyes close, the way a crease forms between Katya’s brows as he braces his hands on the crease of Trixie’s hips, holding him still while he slides in to the hilt.
“Fuck,” Katya says, going quiet, bending over Trixie like he means to block out the sun. He slides one hand up Trixie’s stomach, thumb smoothing over the soft skin in a way that feels dangerously intimate, tender. Trixie rolls his hips down against Katya, trying to urge him faster, trying to escape that feeling.
“I know,” Trixie says, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. He allows himself a touch, trailing his fingertips down Katya’s chest and over his collarbones, feeling his heart pounding beneath his skin. “I need you to fuck me now.”
Katya takes a moment to respond, as if his brain is a few steps behind. As if being inside of Trixie is actually grinding time to a halt. Trixie taps twice on his sternum, a brief you good? touch and waits.
“Yeah- yup,” Katya says, and he starts moving, fucking finally, the slide of his cock inside of Trixie feeling so goddamn good. Trixie moans and hitches his knees higher, and Katya braces his hands on either side of him, dips his head to catch Trixie’s mouth in a not quite kiss.
Trixie’s dick is absolutely drooling onto his stomach between them. He gets a hand around himself and pulls, and the sound his foreskin makes, sliding slick over the head of his cock makes Katya gasp, muttering, “Jesus, you’re so fucking wet, baby.”
It takes all of Trixie’s strength not to shriek like a banshee. He throws one arm across his eyes instead, letting out a muffled sound into the crook of his elbow. Katya sees this and sinks his teeth into it, like a lioness singles out the weakest wildebeest in the herd.
“It feels good, doesn’t it?” Katya asks, and Trixie can only moan in response. Katya shifts his knees on the bed and lifts Trixie up a little bit more.
“That’s it, open up for me, just like that,” Katya’s voice sinks right to Trixie’s core, and the shift in position means he’s thrusting up against Trixie’s prostate, building pressure and twisting up Trixie’s insides like he’s trying to wring him out until he snaps in two.
“Fuck,” Trixie says, digging his heels into Katya’s ass. They’re not even kissing anymore, just breathing roughly into each other’s mouths; Trixie is sure he’ll have a burn from the rasp of Katya’s stubble rubbing his cheek and neck raw.
“You look so fuckin good, Trix,” Katya says, his voice soft and warm. “I could watch you all goddamn day, just spread out like this for me. I can’t believe all I had to do was blast Bjork, too, and I get to see your pretty pink dick like this? Fuck my whole pussy up, mama.” He’s babbling, nonsense.
“Fuck, I-” Trixie says, grabs at whatever part of Katya he can reach, and Katya nods against him, snapping his hips harder.
“Are you gonna come?” Katya asks. His pupils are so blown it makes his blue eyes look dark, the smoky smudge of charcoal shadowing his whole brow.
“Yeah, yeah, I- fuck, Katya,” Trixie nods desperately, his voice coming out in a keening rush. “Please, I- please, I can’t!"
“Sure you can,” Katya says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and Trixie comes with a rough cry, gripping his dick so hard he feels like it might bruise.
His voice is tight in his throat, and Katya straightens up, smoothing a hand affectionately down Trixie’s chest and stomach.
“God, you look so good,” He says, and Trixie just tries to catch his breath, shifting at the way Katya is still moving inside of him, like it’s too much but he still doesn’t want it to stop. His sense of self-preservation is at an all time low, and getting fucked by his downstairs neighbour is probably the highlight of his entire week.
“Oh my god, stop it, I hate you,” Trixie says, locking his ankles together at the small of Katya’s back, angling his hips up. He smears his fingers through his own come on his stomach, lifting them up towards Katya’s face.
“Open your mouth,” Trixie says, and Katya’s eyes fucking roll back in his head for a second. He dips his head and sucks Trixie’s fingers into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the tips of them. Trixie presses into the flat of Katya’s tongue, rubbing insistent.
“Oh my gawd,” Katya says around Trixie’s hand, his voice sharp and tinged with the East Coast, and he fucks into Trixie three, four, five more times before he follows suit, coming with a sound like somebody’s punched it out of him.
Trixie pulls his fingers back before Katya either chokes on them or bites them off, and wipes his hand absently on the sheets. Katya pulls out of him, slowly, and rolls onto the bed at Trixie’s side. His knuckles knock against Trixie’s thigh, and he turns his head to wheeze silently against Trixie’s shoulder. The wheeze turns into full on laughter; Trixie can’t help it, it’s contagious, and he laughs right along with him.
It’s getting late into the afternoon, and the sun coming through Trixie’s bedroom window is tinged with gold. His skin is sticky, sweat slick, but all of the tension from the past week has left his body. He feels like he’s been swimming, and his ears have only just become unclogged, everything sounding clearer than he knew it could.
“That… was really fun. I had a lot of fun,” Katya says, propping his chin up on Trixie’s shoulder, too close for Trixie’s eyes to properly focus on. He draws one finger through the mess on Trixie’s stomach, pressing his palm down flat, apparently delighting in the way it squishes and sticks them together.
“I think I’m dead,” Trixie says, his voice hoarse. “I think you actually did murder me, I think I’ve become the victim of a hate crime. In my own home.” Katya laughs, kicking his feet against the end of the bed. Trixie just swats him, weakly, no malice behind it.
Distantly, he can hear music coming from Katya’s apartment below them. He realizes that it’s not as loud as it usually is, and holds onto that for some stupid, gay reason.