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There’s the rattle of bottles on the dresser, the creak of flimsy laminate, the clink of Ethan’s belt and distant voices coming and going beyond the dressing room door.

Ethan gives Damiano a few good thrusts, savours the clench of him around his cock, the heat and slick where he’s buried deep, so deep.

He stops.

Damiano groans, a desperate puff of breath, and though he can’t really go anywhere, caught as he is between Ethan and the dressing table, though he can only stay, bent over, speared open, filled -  he still tries. To wiggle his hips, get some relief, some friction - something, anything.

“Need something?” Ethan muses, then grabs Damiano’s round ass in his hands, spreads his cheeks, sinks a fraction deeper. “Better?”

Damiano seems to choke on his tongue, but he still won’t say anything.

So stubborn . Ethan doesn’t mind. In fact, he loves it: his contrariety makes Damiano’s unavoidable capitulation all the sweeter.

“You’ve gone all quiet on me,” Ethan notes. He drapes himself over Damiano’s back. Damiano’s frilly pink shirt is damp with sweat already, sticking to his skin like his hair is sticking to the back of his neck. Ethan brushes the dark strands away, scrapes his teeth against a knob of his spine.

Damiano whines, loud, unrestrained. At last some progress.

Ethan adjusts his grips on Damiano’s hips, adjusts the angle, and gives him a couple slow, savage thrusts - as a reward. Damiano goes ah ah ah and arches his back, set on taking Ethan even deeper. His ringed fingers scrabble for purchase over the dressing table, painted nails scratching at the surface. He bumps a couple of bottles in his blind search for something to hold on to, and they tip over, they roll off, crash to the ground but still he won’t say what Ethan wants to hear.

Oh, well. 

Ethan stops again. Finally, finally Damiano snaps. “Jesus fuck, Ethan, come on -“ he grits out, craning his neck to glare at Ethan, red faced and narrow eyed. His indignation would be more convincing if he weren’t trying to fuck himself back on Ethan’s cock. Still, Ethan appreciates the sentiment.

“Not until you say it,” he reminds him. Damiano opens his mouth at that, but again, nothing comes out - stubborn, stubborn man. Ethan nudges his hips, and Damiano slumps over the table with a defeated groan.

Almost there, but not there yet.

Ethan goes back to kissing Damiano’s sweat slick skin again and again, sweet and unhurried, then he starts sucking bruises into it. Damiano’s longer hair will cover the marks up. And if it doesn’t - well, Ethan wouldn’t mind the world seeing his marks all over Damiano. Not at all.

“Ethaaaaaan -“ Damiano breathes out. His voice goes small and petulant when he’s close to capitulating. Ethan supposes he could do the nice thing and help him. Just a bit. He’s not unreasonable, not like Damiano, so he wraps a hand around Damiano’s stiff dick, tugs once, twice. Damiano seems to forget how to breathe. He still hasn’t remembered how when Ethan stops, lets his frustrated dick go.

“Bastard -“ Damiano mutters but doesn’t move his hands, fists clenched on the table, knuckles white. He stays under Ethan, stays where he belongs.

“Starts with the same letter, but that’s not it,” Ethan prompts, ever helpful. He gives Damiano a couple of shallow thrusts, as encouragement, Damiano’s back tenses, trembles, then -

Baby .”

Ah, Christ. Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, holds his breath, holds back a moan.

“Baby, Ethan, baby, baby , please -“

Ethan - he loses it. He can’t think, can’t function, can’t control himself can only fuck into Damiano’s tight heat with each baby baby baby until he’s lost, until he spills.

A breath - two. 

When he can raise his head from Damiano’s back he finds Damiano watching him from over his shoulder, eyes wide, disbelieving: “Did you just -”

He supposes did. He thuds his head back against Damiano’s spine - laughter rumbling through it already, tickling his brow.

Ah, cazzo , Ethan is never going to hear the end of it, now, is he?

He pulls out and Damiano immediately straightens and pushes off the dresser, turns around. His eyes are alight with smugness, his trademark smirk on his lovely mouth. He bats his eyelashes, sighs.

“Oh, baby ,” he tuts.

“Shut up,” Ethan counters, as he zips himself up. There’s no heat, he can barely keep a straight face.

“What? You wanted me to say it. Shall I say it again?” Damiano grins, feral, meets Ethan’s eyes, then leans back against the dresser. His trousers are around his ankles, his dick still hard and leaking. Ethan can see a drip of his come down Damiano’s inner thigh. He’s the picture of debauchery. He’s magnificent. Without a care for his dishevelled state or any listening ears, he tilts his head back, juts his hips out. “Oh, baaaaaaaaby ,” he moans to the ceiling, loud and exaggerated like a Mammamia performance.

God, Ethan loves him. That’s why he doesn’t give in to the urge to strangle him. He shakes his head, nods to Damiano’s erection, instead.

“Yeah, very funny, Damià. Keep it up - see if I get you off.”

Damiano gasps overly dramatic. “You wouldn’t -“

Ethan gives him a try me look. That seems to have the desired effect. Damiano bites his lips, flutters his lashes. When he speaks next his voice is quiet, sweet, real

“Ethan, baby, please? Make me feel good?”

Ah, fuck it. Ethan gets down on his knees, swallows Damiano’s dick to the root.

Damiano groans, gasps, but waits for Ethan - as always. 

Only Ethan is done waiting, he has no finesse or patience left, Ethan just wants to bring Damiano there - make him see stars. Then get him into a bed and do it all over again.

“Baby, fuck, so good, Ethan, baby.”

Damiano half sighs half sobs, breathless and so sweet now. Ethan pulls back, strokes him nice and slow.


“Yeah, fuck, Ethan, I’m so close, please.” Damiano fucks into his grip, surrenders. Ethan runs a finger down the soft expanse of his inner thigh, catches a shiny trickle of come, pushes it back into Damiano’s well fucked hole, slick and warm and as welcoming as ever.

Damiano moans, loudly, and then, an unprompted whisper, a gust of breath, a confession - “ yours.

Yours, with Ethan’s fingers pushing Ethan’s come inside him. Yours, with Ethan on his knees for him. Yours with Ethan’s heart exploding in his chest. 

Ethan looks up, mouth open in awe and hunger - only the tight clench of Damiano around his fingers alerting him before a hot spurt of Damiano’s come lands on his cheek. Ethan blinks, then discards his surprise in favour of stroking Damiano through his unexpected orgasm.

“Mine, uh?” he murmurs, afterwards, eyes closed, as Damiano helps him cleans his face with make-up wipes.

“Oh, shut up,” Damiano mutters, wiping harder. “I say a lot of shit, you shouldn’t take it too seriously.” But when Ethan opens his eyes Damiano’s cheeks are a bit too red, his eyes a bit too wide. Ethan smiles, reassuring, and doesn’t push. The softness in Damiano’s eyes is worth waiting for.

“There, presentable again.”

Ethan nods, turns to check himself in the mirror, frowns.

“Is that come in my hair -“

Damiano makes a show of checking.

“Nah, that must be your shampoo made of love ,” he says with a snort.

Ethan lets him have his fun, for a moment. Then: “Love, eh?”