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For many years, Mohammed Abdul had spent each of his birthdays in peace and quiet, eating out somewhere in Cairo, taking a long bath, meditating, and then sleeping early. For the past ten years, however, they have been loud and happy, always ending with wild, drunken sex, and then a morning-after of lazy, quiet sex. Except this year.
Abdul has become accustomed to celebrating his birthday with Jean Pierre Polnareff and many of their friends, but this year – no matter how hard he tried to plan around it – his lover is gone for some field work in Japan and won’t be back until next week. He holds back a sigh as he pays for his meal and takes the long route back to their Cairo home.
He’s pushing down thoughts of Polnareff’s mouth and his tongue as he unlocks the door, but it makes hit hard to stop when he swears he could smell Polnareff’s cologne. The smell is almost strong enough for him to be standing next to him, but Abdul knows better. Smell is the most powerful memory trigger, he reminds himself, and even a small scent can trigger intense memories.
Instead of letting himself dwell on it, he makes his way up to the bedroom, taking his hair down as he makes plans to take a long soak in the bathtub. He opens the door to grab himself a towel and to drop his robes into their laundry, but never makes it past the door frame.
“Joyeux anniversaire,” greets Polnareff. But Abdul doesn’t respond, busy taking in the sight before him.
Lying on their bed with a bright red rope tied around his torso is his husband, the husband who is supposed to be in Japan. The rope is tied into a torso harness, wrapping around his breasts and leaving a red mark, forcing each muscle to protrude and the silver rings glistening on his nipples to shine in the candlelight. His hair is down and combed to a smooth shine – The way I like it, Abdul thinks absently.
Abdul knows that he’s staring, knows that his mouth is open completely, but he can’t tear his eyes away.
“A hello would be nice,” the man laughs, and Abdul shakes himself out of his trance. He plans to give him much more than that.
In seconds his body is hovering over Polnareff’s, tongue in his mouth and pelvis pressing him into the bed. He wants to ask him questions, but his mouth craves the taste of his shitty tobacco, his minty toothpaste, his terrible taste in fast food. Abdul slides his tongue along Polnareff’s, wrestling for control but feeling himself winning quickly as he grinds his hips down.
“How?” he finally breathes, breaking their kiss only for a moment. “By yourself?” Polnareff’s voice isn’t much better, and he comes away from their kiss, gulping air like a drowning man.
“Silver Chariot helped,” he gasps, his face turning red. “But… ah… It’s not finished yet.” Abdul creases his eyebrow and lifts his body up from his husband’s, letting him point over to the dresser where more bright red ropes are left hanging off of the edge. Abdul feels fire burn beneath his skin, and he doesn’t leave the bed but calls out Magician’s Red to retrieve the ropes for him, pressing Polnareff back into the bed with another kiss.
“Lie on your stomach,” he instructs, and Polnareff shifts underneath him to follow the directions.
“Do you even want to know why I’m back so early?” Polnareff asks with a chuckle as Abdul reaches for his hands and pulls his arms behind his back. He slides the ropes through the back of the harness and then around his wrists.
“No,” he replies simply, and Polnareff barks a laugh, but that laugh turns quickly into a groan as Abdul pulls the ropes tight and finishes off the knot. He waits for the slide of the ropes around his ankles but it never comes.
“My legs?” Abdul leans in and presses a kiss to his shoulder blade, then pushes him into rolling over.
“I want you properly on your knees,” Abdul all but growls, and then charges in to bite a possessive mark into the tender skin on his neck. “I was disappointed that I was going to have such an uneventful birthday,” he confesses as he marks Polnareff’s neck, peppering it with red as he works his way down to his chest. “But then I come home and here you are, wrapped up like the perfect birthday present.” Abdul tucks his finger underneath the ropes beneath Polnareff’s nipple and drags them up, rubbing them against the rings in his nipples and up the lines of his abs.
“Ahngh!” Polnareff groans, abs rolling as he tries to move away from the sensation and back toward it at the same time. It’s too much – everything’s too much for him – but it’s not enough and he wants more even if his body doesn’t.
“I haven’t even touched you yet,” Abdul teases, hand just barely brushing the heated skin of his hardening cock. “And look at you. What a wonderful gift.” He dips his head down and pulls one of the rings into his mouth, twisting it and flicking it with his tongue. Polnareff shudders as Abdul’s expert tongue drives his hypersensitivity into overdrive, opening his mouth in an uncontrolled groan. As soon as his mouth opens, however, Abdul’s fingers are there, pressing their way past his lips and resting on his tongue.
Abdul often forgets about the stud in Polnareff’s mouth, but when he remembers – by glint in his mouth or by feeling – it sends his blood boiling and his cock dripping. Polnareff works his oral magic as he laves his tongue all around Abdul’s thick fingers, flattening it and running it up their underside like he would if it was Abdul’s cock in his mouth. He swirls his tongue just around the tips of his fingers and then sucks down on them, and Abdul can feel the blood pooling at their end and in his gut. Polnareff lovingly runs it over each digit, massaging the skin with the little metal ball.
“Momo,” Polnareff moans around his fingers as he teases at his other nipple. Abdul bites down on the meat of his breast and Polnareff opens his mouth, which allows him to remove his fingers and plunge them into his ass.
“Did you prepare for me?” Abdul mutters, noticing the lack of resistance in the normally tight ring of muscle. He scissors his fingers apart as Polnareff opens his mouth to answer and smirks at the affirmation that leaves his throat, much less of a word than he intended it to be.
“Mmm,” Abdul hum as he pulls his fingers out and licks his lips. “You must be ready for me then.” Polnareff whines and nods in response, biceps tensing as he pulls at the restraints holding his hands behind his back. Then, Abdul is straddling his face and he looks down at the blue, shining eyes, forcing himself out of his lusty haze.
“Can I?” he asks gently, shattering the whole illusion of the game, but only for a moment. He always asks permission, and Polnareff always blushes and smiles like a shy schoolboy, and always says yes; this time is no different.
Abdul wraps Polnareff’s soft, silvery hair around his hands and slowly rocks his hips up into his mouth. He leaves his hands in his hair as his hips still, letting his husband work him with his tongue, the ball of his tongue piercing running up the vein in his cock and forcing a groan out of Abdul. The wet muscle massages all the right spots with the perfect suction from his mouth, and when the metal ball drags just under the head, Abdul pulls so hard on Polnareff’s hair that he whimpers. Abdul would let Polnareff suck him off all day in blissful pleasure, but Polnareff relaxes his tongue and Abdul feels his whole body relax below him and knows he’s ready.
“Jean!” he calls as he thrusts roughly into Polnareff’s mouth. He groans as he feels the tip of his cock hit the back of his throat, tightening around him every time he thrusts back in, forcing his gag reflex to disappear. Abdul plunges into his wet, hot mouth until he starts to see white behind his eyes; his muscles all go taught and he feels a shiver run through them, and in response, he tightens his grip in Polnareff’s hair and pulls his mouth off of him.
He drags his lover’s face up with his hands and presses their mouths together sloppily, wet and open and urgent. He kisses him until he can no longer taste himself on Polnareff’s tongue, and then flips him over and pulls his hips into the air.
“Mohammed!” Polnareff shouts as he thrusts into him, hands on his hips so tight they leave marks. “Mo… ha—aaaaah!” Broken syllables and sobs spill out of Polnareff’s mouth as Abdul fucks him raw. His attempts at words quickly melt into incoherent pleas when Abdul moves his hand to his cock, matching the pace with his heavy thrusts, becoming quicker and more erratic as Polnareff’s cries urge him on.
Polnareff comes first, his entire body stilling as he comes, fingers twitching behind his back. Abdul continues to thrust into him, forcing whines out of Polnareff’s throat at the overstimulation, until he finally presses their skin together and stutters to a stop, coming deep inside of him.
They lie there for a moment, Abdul draped over Polnareff’s back, hands pressing into his chest painfully. As soon as he is able, Abdul pulls out of Polnareff and makes quick work of untying his hands and the other knots, rolling him gently over and finishing his work, pressing gentle kisses to every bruise and rope mark. He cringes and kisses the nasty bite mark on his pectoral and Polnareff gasps.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, but Polnareff shakes his head.
“No, I like it.” His voice is cracked and strained, and Abdul can’t help but smile and press a kiss to his face.
Abdul runs a warm bath and places his husband into the bathtub, then removes his tank top and gets in behind him and starts to gently massage his shoulders.
“Use the bubble bath,” sighs Polnareff, leaning his head back on Abdul’s chest. “It’s jasmine. I got it for your birthday.” Abdul smiles as the smell fills the bathroom, and kisses the top of his silver hair.
“Happy birthday,” whispers Polnareff, turning to smile at him with that gentle face and those bright blue eyes. Abdul smiles back at him.
“And a happy birthday it is.”