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Fakhri pulled the tight black compression shirt over his head, the fabric hugging every curve of his lean, toned frame. He paused in front of the mirror, adjusting the hem slightly before running a hand through his already tousled hair, fingers combing it into something that looked effortless but still sharp. His eyes flicked toward the couch where Kahar was sprawled comfortably, legs tangled in a blanket, one hand halfway into a container of Nutella biscuits that Fakhri had baked for him a few nights ago.
“Betul ni kau tak nak ikut aku gi gym hari ni?” Fakhri asked, raising a brow. His tone was light, but there was a playful edge to it, the kind that said he already knew the answer but wanted to hear it anyway.
Kahar didn’t even glance away from the TV. He was fully immersed in the dramatic scene playing out in front of him, eyes wide and jaw slack as the actress on-screen sobbed in slow motion under the pouring rain. “Takpe, kau gi je dulu. Esok aku join,” he said with a dismissive wave, the corner of his mouth quirking into a faint grin as he brought another biscuit to his lips. The Nutella clung to his fingers, sticky and sweet, and he licked it off with all the enthusiasm of someone completely at peace.
Fakhri rolled his eyes affectionately, slinging his gym bag over his shoulder. “Janji esok tau. Kalau tak, aku paksa kau plank sejam,” he teased, walking over to where Kahar was camped out. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Kahar’s forehead, letting his lips linger for just a moment longer than necessary. There was a quiet intimacy to the gesture—one of comfort, of habit, of love that didn’t need words.
Kahar mumbled something in reply, too absorbed in the drama to form a coherent sentence, but the way his cheek tilted toward Fakhri’s touch said everything.
With a small, fond smile, Fakhri grabbed his car keys from the side table, shooting one last glance at his boyfriend, who had his socks half-off, curls messily flopping over his eyes, a chocolate smudge on his bottom lip. He looked completely content, utterly domestic, and Fakhri felt his chest ache with a strange, soft kind of affection.
“Jangan habiskan semua biskut tu. Simpan sikit untuk aku,” Fakhri called out as he opened the front door.
Kahar responded with a lazy thumbs up, still not looking away from the screen. As the door clicked shut behind Fakhri, the apartment settled into a quieter hum, the drama continuing to play and Kahar reaching for another biscuit, mumbling, “Kalau sempatlah,” under his breath, with a smug little smile.
—
Kahar blinked away the sleepiness clinging to his lashes as he heard the familiar jingle of keys followed by the soft click of the front door unlocking. He sat up slowly from the couch, yawning and rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palms before stretching like a cat—arms overhead, shirt riding up to reveal a hint of his soft stomach.
The scent of coffee hit him first, warm and bitter, just before his gaze landed on the man in the doorway. Fakhri stepped in, humming a lighthearted tune under his breath, damp strands of hair falling over his forehead. He was still in his gym attire, a sheen of sweat clinging to the sharp line of his jaw and neck, a large takeaway cup of coffee in one hand, his gym bag slung lazily over his shoulder.
Kahar lit up instantly. His drowsiness disappeared in a heartbeat as he practically skipped across the room, eager to greet his boyfriend properly. “Awalnya balik,” he chirped, reaching out, eyes on Fakhri’s lips, already leaning in for a kiss.
But instead of a welcome, he was met with a firm hand against his chest, pushing him back gently.
Fakhri wrinkled his nose, his expression caught somewhere between amused and grossed out. “Jangan lagi,” he said, taking a half-step back. “Ri busuk.”
Kahar blinked, stunned, his mouth still slightly open. “Huh?”
Fakhri didn’t explain. He was already moving, making a beeline toward the bathroom as he peeled off his gym shirt mid-walk, revealing the curve of his back muscles and the sweat-darkened waistband of his boxers. His shirt landed somewhere near the hallway floor, followed closely by his socks and then his shorts, flung haphazardly toward the laundry bin. Kahar stood there, watching him disappear into the bathroom, the sound of the shower flicking on moments later, followed by a sigh from within the steam-filled space.
Still confused (and slightly sulky) Kahar shuffled toward the laundry bin to clean up after his whirlwind of a boyfriend. He picked up the strewn clothes with practiced ease, until his hand stopped mid-motion.
His fingers closed around the soft fabric of Fakhri’s boxers.
He stared at them for a moment. Black. Slightly damp from sweat. Wrinkled and warm. His heart began to beat faster, a flush rising to his cheeks. His eyes flicked toward the bathroom. The door was closed, the sound of the shower loud and steady, drowning everything else out.
He looked back at the boxers in his hand.
What if…
The thought came unbidden, wicked, delicious. Kahar gulped.
He raised the fabric slowly, hesitantly, until it hovered just beneath his nose. He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath in.
The effect was immediate.
A shiver rippled down his spine, his knees weakening slightly. Fakhri’s scent hit him hard—warm, musky, familiar in a way that ignited something deep in his gut. There was a hint of sweat, the ghost of his cologne, and something uniquely Fakhri. Kahar let out a soft, involuntary moan, low and breathy, biting down on his lower lip as he pressed the cloth tighter against his face.
It wasn’t just arousal—it was yearning. That raw, possessive kind. The kind that made him crave Fakhri in a way that was almost embarrassing. He felt ridiculous and completely turned on at the same time, cheeks burning as he tried to gather himself.
Still holding the boxers in one hand, Kahar stood there, half dazed, eyes still on the bathroom door.
God, he really had it bad.
He took another deep breath, slower this time, letting the scent roll through him like a drug. His fingers clenched tighter around the soft, damp fabric as his body betrayed him—heat pooling low in his belly, the front of his pants growing uncomfortably tight.
“Fuck,” he whispered to himself, barely audible, a flush creeping up his neck, blooming across his cheeks. Shame and arousal warred in his chest, twisting into something that made him feel lightheaded. God, what was he doing?
He stared at the crumpled boxers in his hand, then back toward the closed bathroom door. The steady sound of water still poured from the shower. Safe. He was safe for now. Still alone. Still hidden in this one brief, stolen moment.
Kahar sank onto the edge of their shared bed, boxers still clutched in his hands like some stolen treasure. He stared down at them, and the guilt twisted tighter in his gut. He felt like some sort of pervert.
Ala, Fakhri bukannya some…random stranger, Kahar reasoned, biting at his lower lip. Dia kan…boyfriend aku. Macam kita tak pernah buat benda yang lagi…lucah, kan? Aku dah pernah dapat dia. Aku tau what he tastes like, sounds like, feels like.
But still… this felt different.
This was secretive. This was filthy.
And that only made it hotter.
“Fuck,” he cursed again, softer this time, more desperate.
His hands shook a little as he brought the fabric up to his face again. He inhaled deeply, deeper than before, letting the scent completely overwhelm him this time. Fakhri’s warmth, the salt of his sweat, the earthy edge of dried musk. Every part of him was wrapped into this one worn piece of fabric, and Kahar swore he could feel Fakhri’s presence around him just from that.
He shuddered, thighs pressing together, tension winding tight in his body.
He didn’t even realize he had closed his eyes, sinking into the scent, a breathy moan slipping past his lips as he smushed the boxers harder against his face, heat building fast in the pit of his stomach.
And then, a voice startled him.
“Kahar?”
The voice was cracked with disbelief. Hoarse. Shocked.
His eyes flew open instantly, wide with panic.
Fakhri was standing at the doorway, towel slung low around his hips, fresh from the shower. Water dripped lazily from the ends of the strands of his hair, trailing down the sculpted planes of his chest, over the sharp cut of his collarbones and into the valleys of muscle and warmth Kahar knew far too well. He looked like something out of a daydream—wet, flushed from the heat of the shower, lips parted slightly in surprise.
The towel clung to his hips. A single droplet ran down the slope of his sternum and disappeared into the top of the towel.
And Kahar was still holding his sweaty boxers. Still sitting on the edge of their bed. Still hard. Still breathless.
His mouth opened, closed, opened again. “Aku–” He couldn’t even finish the sentence.
Fakhri blinked once. Then again.
“…Sayang,” he said slowly, brows rising in disbelief. “Serious lah kau tengah pegang boxer aku camtu?”
Kahar’s ears went red. Then his whole face. “Aku tak– Maksud aku– Ye, aku memang– Tapi–” He scrambled, clearly flustered, eyes darting anywhere but at Fakhri.
The boxers were still in his hand.
He hadn’t even dropped them.
“Kau…” Fakhri took a step into the room, water still dripping from his hair onto the floor. His expression was unreadable, part confused, part amused, and something else Kahar couldn’t quite place. “Kau nampak macam kau dah nak come undone just dengan bau boxer aku.”
Kahar let out a strangled sound, embarrassment flooding every cell of his body. “Salah kau lah! Kau yang– Kau yang lama sangat mandi tu!” he blurted, as if that made any of this better.
Fakhri stared at him for a beat longer. Then, slowly, he smirked.
“Damn, baby,” he murmured, taking another step forward. “Aku takleh nak tipu yang senanya… that’s kind of hot.”
Kahar blinked. “Huh?”
Fakhri chuckled under his breath, voice low, smoky, the towel shifting slightly on his hips as he walked. “Kau nak hidu boxer aku camtu pastu buat buat innocent, hm?” His eyes glinted with mischief. “Kau nak main kotor ke, cinta? Kau better be ready untuk whatever yang aku buat kat kau lepas ni.”
Kahar’s mouth ran dry. His heart thudded wildly against his ribs.
Fakhri was still dripping. Still smirking. Still watching him like he was prey.
And Kahar didn’t know if he wanted to run, hide, or throw himself at him.
Probably all three.
Kahar swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry as Fakhri let the towel drop without fanfare. The fabric pooled soundlessly at his feet, exposing every inch of sun-kissed skin. Kahar’s eyes instinctively dropped, trailing down the sharp ridges of Fakhri’s abdomen, past the faint sheen of water that still clung to him, and settling on the neatly trimmed happy trail that led further down, darker against his skin and temptingly framed.
He couldn’t stop the involuntary hitch in his breath, nor the way his fingers curled tighter around the damp boxers still crumpled in his hands. His cheeks burned. Every nerve in his body was on high alert, pulsing in time with his racing heart.
When he dragged his gaze back up, Fakhri was already watching him, eyes dark with want, pupils blown wide. The confident, almost predatory grin spreading across his face made Kahar’s stomach flip.
Fakhri was hungry.
And Kahar? He felt like prey. Willing prey. Breathless and waiting.
Fakhri stepped forward with deliberate slowness, each step measured and oozing with control. Water glistened on his skin, catching the soft light from the bedroom. His body was lean, carved with strength and care, and each drop that trailed along his torso only made Kahar’s throat tighten further.
When Fakhri finally reached him, he didn’t say a word. His fingers came up and tilted Kahar’s chin with a firm but gentle grip, forcing his gaze upward.
Kahar barely had time to blink before Fakhri leaned down and kissed him.
No hesitation. No tenderness. Just fire.
Fakhri’s mouth claimed his with a hunger that stole the air from Kahar’s lungs, tongue parting his lips and invading with practiced ease. The taste of mint from the post-shower rinse was still fresh, but underneath it was unmistakably Fakhri, hot, wet, demanding. He kissed like he was trying to unravel Kahar from the inside out, like he needed to make sure Kahar knew exactly who he belonged to.
Kahar let out a low, breathy moan, muffled by the press of Fakhri’s lips. His fingers, still holding onto the boxers, trembled as he reached up with his free hand to clutch at Fakhri’s waist, anchoring himself before the kiss dragged him under completely.
Fakhri deepened the kiss further, biting gently at Kahar’s bottom lip before sucking it between his teeth, pulling another desperate sound from Kahar’s throat. His other hand trailed down the side of Kahar’s neck, thumb brushing over the racing pulse there.
When they finally pulled apart, Kahar was panting, lips wet and slightly swollen, eyes glazed over and heavy-lidded.
Fakhri’s voice was low and husky when he spoke again, teasing but edged with something rougher, deeper. “Kau jadi sampai cam ni sebab bau boxer aku je ke? Wow Kahar.”
Kahar whimpered, unable to form words. He felt like his skin was too tight, like he was about to unravel at the seams just from Fakhri’s voice alone.
Fakhri chuckled, dark and rich, and leaned in again, this time nipping at the corner of Kahar’s jaw before whispering into his ear, “Lain kali kalau kau nak bau aku, kau mintak. Or better yet, biar aku bagi kau terus.”
He took Kahar’s wrist gently, pried the damp boxers from his clenched grip, and tossed them onto the bed. Then he straddled Kahar’s lap, pressing their bodies flush together, heat against heat, skin against skin, and Kahar felt his breath catch again.
“Meh sini aku tunjuk kau,” Fakhri murmured, lips brushing against Kahar’s as he spoke, “apa yang jadi kalau kau play dirty tanpa aku.”
And Kahar, already dizzy from the taste of that kiss and the weight of Fakhri’s body, could only nod. Because if this was punishment, he never wanted to behave again.
Fakhri pulled him back into another heated kiss, this time more urgent, more demanding. Kahar's fingers dug into Fakhri's waist, pulling him closer as their lips collided with fiery intensity. A low, guttural moan slipped from Fakhri’s throat, the sound vibrating through Kahar’s chest, making his heart race in response. It was a symphony of hunger, lips, teeth, tongues, all colliding in a desperate frenzy.
Fakhri’s hand slid to the back of Kahar’s neck, his thumb brushing over the delicate skin there with a softness that was immediately replaced with something far rougher. He tightened his grip, pulling Kahar’s head back just enough to expose his throat. A choked gasp escaped Kahar’s lips as he struggled to breathe, the sensation of Fakhri’s fingers digging into the sensitive flesh, sending waves of heat rushing through his veins.
Fakhri’s eyes glinted in the dim light of the room, darkened with a mix of lust and something more dangerous. There was a predatory gleam in them, something that made Kahar’s pulse spike with both fear and desire.
Slowly, Fakhri released his grip on Kahar’s neck, the tension in the air crackling between them. He took a step back, eyes never leaving Kahar’s, drinking in the sight of him, disheveled, flushed, and gasping for air, his chest heaving with every breath.
Then, in one swift motion, Fakhri reached out, his hands gripping Kahar’s waist and lifting him effortlessly. Kahar let out a surprised yelp as he was thrown onto the bed, the soft ‘oof’ of his body hitting the mattress causing his heart to stutter. He bounced slightly, then lay back against the sheets, watching with anticipation, feeling the tension build as Fakhri moved with slow, deliberate steps toward him.
Kahar couldn’t tear his eyes away from Fakhri’s every movement, each muscle in his boyfriend’s body rippling under the soft lighting of the room. The faint droplets of water still clung to his skin, catching the light, making him look like something out of a dream. Kahar’s breath caught in his throat as he leaned up on his elbows, his heart pounding in his chest.
Fakhri crawled toward him, taking his time. His movements were predatory, fluid, every inch of him exuding power, control, and a deep, primal need. Kahar’s body responded without thinking, heat pooling in his core as his gaze flicked down to Fakhri’s lips, then to the muscles of his chest, and lower. He swallowed thickly, suddenly desperate for more of that touch, that heat.
As Fakhri reached the edge of the bed, he paused for a moment, hovering over Kahar, his breath brushing across his skin. The tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife, and Kahar’s hands instinctively reached out, gripping at the sheets, trying to steady himself.
“Memang tak pandai sabar kan kau ni?” Fakhri’s voice was low, teasing, the hint of a smirk in his tone as he watched Kahar, eyes dark with something feral and intoxicating.
Kahar swallowed, his body aching with need, his skin tingling under the weight of Fakhri’s gaze. “Kau lah. Tak habis-habis nak bazir masa,” Kahar replied, his voice rough, barely able to keep the desperation from seeping through.
Fakhri chuckled darkly, the sound making Kahar’s stomach tighten. “Bukan aku yang tak sabar, cinta," he murmured, then leaned down to hover his lips just above Kahar’s, his breath a warm tease against his skin. "Aku just nak take my time to make sure yang aku akan enjoy ni…properly.”
Before Kahar could respond, Fakhri’s lips crashed down onto his again, hard and fast, leaving no room for resistance. His hands slid under his clothes and up Kahar’s chest, each movement deliberate, almost painfully slow. As their bodies pressed together, Kahar felt the heat of Fakhri’s bare skin against his own, the friction making his pulse race.
Fakhri’s fingers trailed lower, skimming over the fabric of Kahar’s clothes, but then, without warning, he yanked them off, discarding them carelessly. Kahar let out a soft gasp as he was left exposed, his breath hitching in his throat. The cool air on his skin made his body shiver, but the warmth of Fakhri’s touch quickly replaced it.
Kahar’s hands slid up to Fakhri’s shoulders, his fingers digging into the muscles there as he pulled him closer, his lips desperate, hungry for more. The world around them seemed to fade into a blur, the only thing that mattered being the raw need between them.
Fakhri pulled back, just enough to look Kahar in the eye, his expression still predatory but now tinged with a raw intensity. “Kau memang nak aku buat camni, kan?” he asked, his voice a whisper of silk against Kahar’s skin as he waited for Kahar’s consent.
Kahar’s answer came in the form of a low, needy moan, his hands sliding down Fakhri’s back to grip his hips. “Yes,” he breathed, his voice thick with desire. “Aku nak ni. Aku nak kau.”
Fakhri’s smirk grew, and with a single motion, he pushed Kahar back onto the bed, the sheets beneath him cool against his skin. And as Fakhri’s lips found his again, Kahar knew that whatever came next would be nothing short of consuming.
Fakhri flipped Kahar around with surprising ease, pulling him into position to face the bed. The shift left Kahar slightly breathless, a startled sound escaping him as Fakhri’s hand landed firmly on the curve of his ass with a sharp smack. The sudden pressure sent a jolt of heat through him, and Kahar’s body instinctively tensed.
“Easy,” Fakhri murmured, his voice low and soothing as he ran his fingers along the taut muscles of Kahar’s back. He couldn’t help but admire the way Kahar’s body responded to his touch, the way every movement seemed to make him more eager, more alive.
Kahar shifted slightly, pressing his palms into the sheets, trying to steady himself. He was still processing the surprise of the shift, the rush of emotions mixing with his growing desire. Fakhri’s hand moved lower, tracing the shape of Kahar’s hips before gently kneading the curve of his ass.
“Relax,” Fakhri coaxed, his voice calm but firm, sending a rush of warmth down Kahar’s spine.
Kahar let out a breath, feeling the tension ease a little. "Dah aku tak expect kau buat macam tu," he said, his voice still breathless. He tried to catch his breath as the moment stretched between them, tension mingling with something softer, something intimate.
Fakhri smiled at him, his touch gentle despite the intensity of the earlier movements. He reached over to the bedside table, his fingers brushing against the familiar bottle there. The soft click of the cap was a sound Kahar had come to associate with comfort, with a kind of quiet reassurance that, no matter what, everything between them was built on trust.
He poured a generous amount, the cool liquid spilling against Kahar’s skin, sliding down the crack of his ass and slowly dripping onto the sheets underneath. Kahar let out a small gasp at the cold sensation, his body instinctively jerking before he forced himself to relax, a small chuckle escaping his lips. "Sejuklah," he muttered, shifting in place as he adjusted to the feeling. His hands gripped the sheets tighter, seeking something to hold onto.
Fakhri leaned down, his lips brushing lightly against Kahar's shoulder, the touch brief but grounding. “Aku tau,” he said, his voice full of tenderness as he worked his hands carefully, his touch sure and comforting.
The contrast of the coldness from the lube against the heat of their bodies only heightened the tension in the room, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of tension that made every touch feel that much more important, that much more meaningful. Every movement felt like a careful promise, a reminder of how far they’d come, of the trust that had been built between them.
As Fakhri adjusted himself behind Kahar, his hands caressing the warm skin beneath him, there was a soft, unspoken understanding between them. They didn’t need words for this. Every touch, every brush of skin against skin, said everything they needed to know.
Kahar took a deep breath, feeling the tension leave his body as Fakhri continued his careful ministrations. The moment felt endless, soft, and intimate.
Unfortunately, that didn’t last long. After a few gentle kisses Fakhri had left down the trail of his spine, Fakhri pushed in one finger, quickly followed by a second, the slight burn lighting Kahar’s body up in ways he couldn’t explain.
He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and nodded, Fakhri stretching his fingers apart and pushing them deeper, fingers trying to find the spot that would make Kahar’s limbs lock up.
After a few more teasing moves from Fakhri, he pressed down on the bundle of nerves, a surprised moan leaving Kahar as he pushed his face into the sheets, eyes slipping shut.
Fakhri took his time, each movement deliberate and slow, as if savoring every second. Kahar’s patience, already hanging by a thread, began to fray with every passing moment. The longer Fakhri took, the more the anticipation built, every touch igniting a fire within him that he couldn’t extinguish.
Kahar’s breath became shallow, a soft whimper slipping past his lips. His body tensed with the effort of holding himself together, and he could feel the tension pooling in his stomach, his legs trembling beneath him. His fingers gripped the sheets so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
“Lagi,” Kahar gasped, his voice thick with need. The word was barely a plea, more like an impatient demand, but Fakhri remained unyielding, his focus unwavering. He didn’t speed up, didn’t relent, only continuing with that maddening, precise pressure that kept Kahar on the edge.
Kahar let out another soft sound, frustration creeping into his tone. “Situ,” he muttered, his hips shifting involuntarily. His body was desperate, wanting more, craving that sweet release that Fakhri was making him work for.
But Fakhri only smirked, his hand steady as he pressed down on the sensitive spot again, watching Kahar’s body shake with the effort of restraint. There was something almost cruel in how slow he was being, the tension he was stretching between them stretching to the breaking point.
Kahar’s breath hitched, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he fought to keep his composure. Every inch of him felt like it was on fire, the frustration building with every deliberate movement Fakhri made, and yet nothing was enough to push him over the edge.
“Fakhri,” Kahar breathed out, his voice cracking, eyes squeezing shut as he fought the overwhelming sensations coursing through him. “Please…”
With the soft, whined plea, Fakhri pulled his fingers out, collecting some of the clear liquid and lubing his cock up, hissing in pleasure as he twisted his fist around his tip. He positioned himself properly behind Kahar, the older waiting in anticipation.
The both of them let out similar sounds of pleasure as Fakhri bottomed out in one go, thanks to the extended amount of prep. The air between them was thick with tension as Fakhri finally moved, their bodies locking together in a way that sent a wave of heat through both of them. They both let out low, breathless sounds, the pleasure a shared moment of connection after the slow, intense build-up. Kahar’s body trembled slightly at the sudden fullness, his muscles still adjusting to the depth of the connection, while Fakhri paused to gather himself, his hands gripping Kahar’s waist with a firmness that left no room for doubt.
Fakhri closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose, trying to steady himself. His gaze flickered toward the bed, and his eyes landed on his boxers, the one Kahar had been so eagerly inhaling, still left forgotten on the edge of the mattress. The scent of sweat clung to the fabric, a mix of exertion and something more primal. Fakhri couldn’t help but smile to himself, an idea flashing through his mind.
He reached over, his hand gripping the fabric, and Kahar let out a soft gasp as the shift in position caused a deeper connection. Fakhri chuckled softly, the sound rich with satisfaction. There was something about the boxers, the momentary reminder of their closeness, that felt like the final touch on a much larger picture.
Kahar, still panting softly, caught the briefest glimpse of Fakhri’s grin before the younger man’s fingers gently tugged at his hair. Fakhri’s other hand held the boxers to his face, covering his mouth and nose, a playful gesture that was a mixture of dominance and amusement. Kahar’s breath hitched, caught between confusion and something else. It was almost as if Fakhri was marking the moment, asserting something unspoken but undeniably felt.
The scent of Fakhri’s clothes, sweat and the lingering traces of their intimacy, overwhelmed Kahar’s senses, and for a fleeting second, Kahar was consumed by it. The world around them blurred, the sensation of Fakhri close and tangible, the heat of his body warming Kahar’s own, was intoxicating.
Fakhri leaned in, his lips brushing Kahar’s ear as he whispered softly, the intimacy between them thickening. “Kau aku punya,” he breathed, the words barely audible but laden with meaning. And Kahar, breathless and swept up in the moment, could only nod, his heart racing faster.
Fakhri's grip tightened on Kahar’s head, the playful bite in his voice becoming sharper as he leaned in, his words tinged with possessiveness. “Kau nak sangat kan bau peluh aku?” His tone was a mix of teasing and challenge, a sharp edge to his words that only served to heighten the tension between them. He pushed Kahar's head down toward the sheets, the discarded boxers pressed between them, and for a moment, everything around Kahar seemed to shift. His breath hitched, the pressure in his chest from both the restriction and the overwhelming scent of Fakhri’s presence flooding his senses.
Kahar’s head spun, a mixture of lack of air and the growing desire that Fakhri’s every movement was stirring within him. The sensation was dizzying, and yet, there was no room for hesitation. He could feel the weight of Fakhri’s touch, firm and controlling, and his body instinctively responded to the challenge, a shiver running down his spine as the sharp edge of Fakhri’s dominance only deepened his hunger.
Kahar’s pulse quickened, every inch of his body responding to the raw intensity of the moment. The way Fakhri held him there, with such ease and power, made him feel like he was at the edge of something he couldn’t fully understand but couldn’t stop craving either. Every breath felt like it was burning through him, the air heavy with both Fakhri’s scent and the heat of the tension between them.
At that, Fakhri started a brutal pace, his hips slapping against Kahar’s own, the sounds of that accompanying the pants Fakhri was letting out, along with the muffled moans from Kahar, whose eyes were rolling back from the overloaded amount of pleasure he was currently receiving.
Fakhri’s grip on Kahar’s hair loosened just enough to pull his head back up, allowing Kahar a brief moment to catch his breath. A strained, desperate cry escaped Kahar’s lips, his chest heaving as he tried to steady himself, only for Fakhri to assert his control again. In one swift movement, Fakhri pushed Kahar’s head back down, his hands steady and firm as Kahar was once again pressed against the fabric of the boxers.
Kahar’s breath faltered as the world around him blurred, his senses overwhelmed by the heat of Fakhri’s presence, the weight of the moment settling over him. His pulse raced, the desperation in his voice mingling with the intense connection they shared, and every part of him seemed to crave more, the air thick with their shared tension.
Fakhri’s movements grew more deliberate as he deepened his connection with Kahar, his breath coming in short gasps. His voice, low and full of praise, slipped past his lips, adding to the weight of the moment. Kahar could feel the warmth of Fakhri’s hands shift, his grip moving from his hair to his waist, anchoring him in place as they both gave in to the heat building between them.
Kahar turned his head to the side, desperate for air, his breaths coming in quick, ragged gasps. The sounds he made were raw, unfiltered, emotions he wasn’t sure he was ready to admit, slipping from him despite his best efforts to hold them back. Each sound was a mark of the deep connection they shared, the vulnerability of the moment not lost on either of them.
Fakhri tugged Kahar’s arm to the side, momentarily slipping out, only to crash his lips against Kahar’s in a messy, urgent kiss. His hands roamed over Kahar’s chest, exploring the warmth of his skin, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breaths. As the kiss deepened, Fakhri’s body leaned forward, Kahar’s back slumping slightly against the sheets, losing himself in the closeness between them. The kiss was unrefined, filled with a rawness that matched the intensity of the emotions they shared, each touch a silent affirmation of the bond growing between them.
Fakhri reached down to Kahar’s neglected cock, pre cum collecting at the slit like a leaky faucet. Kahar pulled away from the kiss as Fakhri fastened the pace of his hand, Kahar’s back arching, pleasure exploding in his mind.
With a steady, gentle movement, Fakhri guided them back together, slipping his cock back in, his hands softly tracing Kahar’s body as he leaned down to kiss him. The kiss was slow at first, a soft, lingering connection, his lips barely grazing Kahar’s before pulling away, just enough to catch Kahar’s bottom lip between his teeth. The small, teasing tug sent a shiver through Kahar, and he couldn’t suppress the soft gasp that slipped from him. “Fakhri–” Kahar breathed out, his voice a mixture of longing and surrender.
Kahar turned his head to the side, his breath coming in shallow, eager gasps as Fakhri trailed a line of kisses down his jaw, each touch gentle yet full of intent. His lips moved lower, teasing the sensitive skin of Kahar’s neck before settling on his collarbones, where he lingered a little longer. Each kiss was a promise, a silent communication of affection, and Kahar’s heart raced in response to it.
Unable to keep his hands still, Kahar’s arms shot up instinctively, wrapping around Fakhri’s neck, pulling him closer. He sought out more of that warmth, more of the comfort that only Fakhri seemed to provide so effortlessly. His body reacted without thought, urging them closer, as if to close the space between them entirely. There was no need for words now—every movement, every gentle touch, spoke louder than anything they could say.
“Aku sayang kau, cinta.”
Kahar’s breath hitched at that, softly murmuring a response back, right before Fakhri’s pace stepped up and a choked curse left Kahar’s lips.
Fakhri grunted as he thrusted once, twice, before stilling, warm cum staining Kahar’s insides, as Kahar shivered.
Fakhri reached down to wrap his hand around Kahar’s cock, jacking it off at a pace that made Kahar’s eyes roll back as he weakly gripped at Fakhri’s wrist, cum spurting out the slit as his back arched.
His thoughts were completely consumed by Fakhri, his heart still racing as the feeling of their closeness lingered. The moment between them was so quiet, so intimate, that Kahar could feel every soft breath they shared. He shifted slightly, the warmth of Fakhri’s touch still radiating through him as Fakhri slowly pulled away. It wasn’t just the physical sensation, it was the way Fakhri’s presence seemed to fill the room, a sense of calm settling over him that Kahar could never quite put into words.
Fakhri’s hand gently cupped Kahar’s face, and without a word, he leaned in, closing the space between them. The kiss was tender at first, soft and slow as if neither of them wanted to break the fragile connection they had just built. Kahar felt himself melting into it, his lips responding to Fakhri’s with a softness that made him feel weightless. He was lost in the kiss, completely lost in the comfort of Fakhri’s embrace, and his thoughts started to blur together.
As Fakhri’s lips pressed a little deeper, Kahar’s eyelids grew heavy, the soothing rhythm of their kiss making him feel warmer and safer than he’d felt in a long time. His breath became slower, more relaxed, until the sensation of Fakhri’s lips against his felt like the most natural thing in the world. Almost without realizing it, Kahar’s body began to relax completely, his shoulders slumping slightly, and his grip around Fakhri’s neck loosening. The steady warmth of the kiss made him feel drowsy, and for a moment, he almost let himself drift off to sleep, the peaceful sensation of Fakhri’s touch completely enveloping him.
But just as his body threatened to give in, Fakhri pulled back slightly, brushing a strand of hair from Kahar’s forehead. “Kau okay?” Fakhri whispered softly, his voice a quiet murmur in the stillness of the room.
Kahar blinked, shaking himself awake with a small smile. “Mmm…okay je, cuma…almost nak tertidur je tadi,” he said, his voice thick with the warmth of their kiss. Fakhri chuckled, leaning back in to kiss him again, this time, slow and soft, a promise of comfort, affection, and everything they were to each other.
The second kiss was just as tender, the kind that didn’t need words, but spoke volumes. It was a simple expression of love, a connection that transcended everything else. Kahar closed his eyes, surrendering to the feeling, his body completely relaxed now, a deep sense of peace settling over him as he let himself enjoy this moment with Fakhri.
When they pulled apart again, their foreheads gently touched, a contented silence filling the space between them. Kahar’s eyes fluttered open, and he smiled at Fakhri, his heart full.
Fakhri gently coaxed Kahar into the shower, his voice low and soothing as he helped him out of bed. Kahar’s steps were sluggish, his body still heavy from the lingering aftereffects of their intimacy. He could barely keep his eyes open, his mind still clouded by drowsiness, but he allowed Fakhri to guide him through the motions. The warm water cascading over his body felt like a dream, the coolness of the shower mixing with the heat in his veins, calming him with each passing second.
Fakhri was gentle with him, washing away the remnants of their connection, the sweat and everything else that came with their closeness. Kahar’s head lulled back against Fakhri’s chest, and he could feel the softness of Fakhri’s touch, his hands moving slowly as he cleaned him. The warmth of Fakhri’s presence, the sound of his steady breath, it all worked together to lull Kahar into a state of half-consciousness, his body swaying ever so slightly as he let himself relax in Fakhri’s care.
“Sikit lagi, cinta,” Fakhri murmured, his voice like a melody in Kahar’s ears. Kahar barely responded, his eyes fluttering shut as he let the water run over him, the rhythm of it almost like a lullaby.
When Fakhri finally helped him out of the shower, Kahar was almost completely asleep on his feet. Fakhri wrapped a towel around him, his hands moving in practiced, gentle motions, making sure Kahar was warm and comfortable. He changed the sheets quickly, the soft rustle of the fabric the only sound filling the quiet room.
Kahar climbed back into bed without protest, his body already sinking into the softness of the mattress. He was barely aware of Fakhri’s movements as he pulled the blankets over him, tucking him in with tender care. Kahar let out a soft, contented sigh as his head hit the pillow, the world around him fading into the comforting haze of sleep.
Fakhri watched him for a moment, his heart swelling with affection. Kahar looked so peaceful, so vulnerable in his sleep, and it was in these quiet moments that Fakhri realized just how much he cared for him. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Kahar’s forehead, his lips lingering for just a second before he pulled away. “Have a good sleep, handsome,” he whispered softly, as if speaking to the sleeping man would make the words more meaningful.
Kahar didn’t stir, the gentle rhythm of his breathing the only response. With a small smile, Fakhri quietly left the room, knowing that Kahar would be safe and at peace while he slept, and that in the morning, they would face the world together once more.
—
Kahar was gently stirred awake by the irresistible scent of something warm and chocolatey wafting through the air. His eyes fluttered open, groggy and half-asleep, the drowsiness lingering around him like a cloud. Slowly, he rubbed at his face, trying to shake off the sleep as he dragged himself out of bed. His bare feet hit the cool floor, and he scratched absentmindedly underneath his shirt, barely registering the movements as he padded out of the bedroom.
As Kahar rounded the corner into the kitchen, the first thing he noticed was the sound of music and Fakhri, humming and softly singing a lyric into a spatula like it was a microphone. The kitchen was a bit of a mess, with bowls, flour, and baking ingredients scattered across the countertop. In the oven, a tray of chocolate chip cookies was baking, the sweet smell filling the room and making Kahar’s stomach rumble.
He leaned against the doorframe, still blinking the sleep from his eyes, a tired grin tugging at his lips as he took in the sight of Fakhri’s cheerful and carefree movements. Fakhri turned toward him, his smile brightening even more when he noticed Kahar standing there.
“Dah bangun?” Fakhri asked, his voice light and playful. “Ni, Ri ada buatkan cookies untuk cinta,” he continued, his words accompanied by an exaggerated wink. “Sebab ada someone yang habiskan nutella biscuit tu. Sikit pon tak tinggalkan untuk Ri,” he added with a theatrical sigh, placing the spatula into the sink.
Kahar chuckled, still too sleepy to come up with any clever retort. His grin softened as he shuffled closer to Fakhri, the warmth from the kitchen comforting and familiar. “Aku mintak maaf,” he murmured sheepishly, his voice rough from sleep. “Tapi tulah, sedap sangat…” He didn’t finish the sentence, instead leaning in closer to help Fakhri clean up, his hand naturally falling onto the sponge as he took over the washing.
As he worked, Kahar couldn't resist the pull of the chocolatey sweetness that still lingered on Fakhri’s cheek, a streak of melted chocolate left behind from his earlier baking. Without thinking, Kahar leaned in, using his tongue to lick it off Fakhri’s cheek, the smooth taste sending a quick, pleasant jolt through him.
Fakhri immediately recoiled, a melodramatic gasp escaping his lips. “Eiii mulut kau busuk, jangan lah jilat pipi Ri!” he whined, dramatically scrubbing his cheek with his sleeve. But the playful laugh that followed his complaint was more than enough to show he was just teasing.
Kahar, now grinning ear to ear, couldn’t help but let out a boisterous laugh of his own. His laughter echoed around the kitchen, filling the space with warmth and lightness. "Sorry, aku tak dapat nak tahan,” he teased, a sparkle in his eyes as he grabbed a towel to dry his hands. “Nanti aku make it up to you dengan cookies satu." He shot a mischievous grin in Fakhri's direction.
Fakhri, having finished wiping his cheek, placed a hand on his hip, looking at Kahar with mock indignation. "Dia cakap macam dia yang buat,” he said, his voice teasing but full of affection. "Takpe, tak buat tapi nanti cinta kena suap Ri biscuit ni banyak-banyak."
Kahar playfully rolled his eyes, moving toward the oven to check on the cookies. He could already feel the warmth and comfort of the moment wrapping around him, the bond between them both so effortlessly strong. “Tapi sedap bau semua ni,” he muttered, eyes wide in genuine awe. “Kalau aku makan semua ni dulu…” he added with a smirk.
Fakhri laughed, his heart swelling with fondness for Kahar. “Aww, nasib baik aku tengah good mood sekarang,” he teased before opening the oven and pulling out the tray of golden-brown cookies. “Fresh out of the oven, just for you.”
Kahar reached for one of the cookies, his eyes sparkling as he took a bite, the chocolate melting in his mouth. “Mmm, worth it,” he sighed contentedly, leaning back against the counter. “Kau memang pandai spoilkan aku kan, Ri?”
Fakhri smiled softly, walking over to him and resting his head on Kahar’s shoulder. “Dah kau deserve it,” he murmured, his voice gentle but filled with affection. “Aku just suka tengok kau happy all the time. Sebab aku kan sayang kau.”
Kahar’s smile softened as he wrapped an arm around Fakhri, pulling him closer, his heart full. "You do," Kahar replied, his voice low and sincere. "You really do."
They stood there for a while, just enjoying the comfort of each other’s presence, the kitchen now filled with the sound of their quiet laughter and the warmth of their shared moments.