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"Ryan."
The head of blond curls that tickled Naim's nose didn't move. He buried his face deeper, inhaling Ryan's woody scent as he ran a hand along his naked back, skin hot and tacky with almost-sweat from being pressed so close to Naim underneath their thick doona. Naim’s fingers caught on the thin scars between his shoulder blades, a tearing claw that perfectly matched the spread of his hand, raised and pink. Ryan’s back rose and fell underneath his touch with the slow rhythm of sleep.
If it were up to Naim, he’d let Ryan lay there till he woke, even if that meant drifting off himself. Their bed was blessedly warm, a refuge from the persistent chill in their tiny one-bedroom poorly built for the Melbourne winter. Ryan's heavy body draped over him was a welcome weight, relaxing Naim and putting his limbs in a pleasant state of half-existence, like he was floating in a pool of perfectly lukewarm water.
But when he'd pillowed his head on Naim's chest and let his eyes close, Ryan had insisted. Don't let me sleep for more than an hour, he’d muffled against Naim’s collarbone, teeth nipping at sensitive skin. I've got shit to do.
Naim sighed. "Ryan."
Ryan's snore hitched and for a moment Naim thought he'd done it, but whatever blockage had caused Ryan’s breath to falter cleared. Naim smoothed his hand up warm skin until he reached Ryan’s neck, thumb resting gently on his jaw. He prodded hard, poking around his cheek until he felt the outline of back molars through muscle and skin.
“Ryan.”
Finally, with a sharp inhale and twitch, Ryan woke. He groaned, body shifting as he lifted his head, face puffy and crumpled in post-nap confusion. Indented red lines crisscrossed his arms and ribs, sheet folds leaving their mark. How many hours had it been? Two, maybe three. Naim hadn’t slept but he'd dozed intermittently in between scrolling on his phone. His mind felt syrupy slow as he returned Ryan's vague blink. Ryan winced, eyelids screwing shut against the light that spilled into their bedroom from the un-shuttered window. Stubborn, he remained facing it, engaging the afternoon sun in a stand-off. Opening his eyes wider and wider, he gradually gained ground, but right before his triumph he yielded, burying his face back into Naim's neck.
"Fuck." Ryan’s groan vibrated through Naim's sternum, a pleasant buzz against his heart. “Don’t wanna get up.”
"Then don't." Naim hummed, running a hand through Ryan's unruly bed hair. The sun-bleached curls were long enough now to wrap around his fingers six times over. Ryan didn’t believe in wasting what little money they had to spare on barbers.
“Wassetime?
Naim checked his phone. "Just past four."
Ryan garbled something Naim didn’t catch, but the tone communicated his dismay.
"What shit do you even need to do?" Naim asked. He was constantly amazed by the odd chores Ryan filled his weekends with, and how he never seemed to run out of them. "It's a Sunday afternoon."
"Lawn," Ryan mumbled. "And we gotta go to the shops. We’ve got nothing to eat tonight."
"You mowed it last week," Naim said, pressing a kiss to his hair. "And we have leftovers in the freezer."
Ryan lifted his head, hopeful. "We do?"
"Soup. From Mrs. Drew down the road."
"I fucking love you Mrs. Drew."
"Love yourself. She gave it to us because you fixed up her broken veranda step."
"I love you Ryan Whelan of the past. Fucking legend."
Naim laughed, head falling back against the pillows. Ryan wriggled his way further up the bed, knee knocking into Naim's thigh. He sighed as a kiss was pressed to his throat, Ryan’s mouth working slowly up to his jaw.
“So it’s four,” Ryan said.
Naim bit back a smile. "Mhm."
“And we have dinner sorted.”
“We do.”
Underneath the covers, Naim felt fingers play at the hem of his shirt.
"Oh so now you're full of energy."
Ryan grinned, sliding a hand beneath Naim’s waistband and capturing his mouth in a kiss. "Priorities."
Naim brought it up later, the two of them crammed onto their battered beige two-seater to watch the night's game, blowing softly on spoons of steaming chicken soup.
"You know Elsie?
The spoon clacked against Ryan's teeth as he swallowed his mouthful, eyes glued to the TV. "Who?"
"Elsie. You’ve dropped me by her house when you’ve gone out with the guys."
"Uh…"
Naim scoffed, prodding Ryan's thigh with a socked foot. "The girl with the pink hair, dickhead. You said it looked like a highlighter exploded on her head when I showed you a picture."
"Oh yeah, fuckin’ hell it was pink." Ryan shook his head. "Whaddabout her?"
"It's her birthday Friday," Naim said. "She's having a party."
Ryan hummed. "You want me to drive you?" His spoon clinked against the edge as he abandoned it, choosing instead to cup the bowl with both hands and tip the broth straight into his mouth. "I could head to Luke's after. He'll probably be home. Or Angus maybe."
Naim traced the seam of Ryan’s trackies with his toe. The volume of the TV spiked as the crowd filling the stands cheered: ball kicked cleanly between the central posts. Ryan cursed, leaning back against the couch. Wrong team.
"She wants you to come," Naim said. "Do you want to?"
Ryan's head whipped around, soup sloshing dangerously in his bowl.
"Careful," Naim hissed, sitting up and taking it from his hands. They'd picked up this couch from someone's nature strip a year back, scrubbing it clean within an inch of its life. It still had far too many suspicious stains they failed to remove, and Naim wasn’t looking to cover it in any more.
"The party," Ryan said. "I can go with you?"
"I said she wants you to come, didn't I?” Naim huffed, setting Ryan’s bowl on the coffee table. Ryan paid it no mind, dinner forgotten as his hand circled the ankle of the leg Naim had thrown across his lap. He squeezed.
"So you do talk to your friends about me."
Naim frowned, petulant. "Obviously."
"Obviously?" Ryan laughed. Naim prodded his soft inner thigh hard with his foot.
"What?"
"Nothin’," Ryan said, shaking his head and grinning wide enough that made it clear whatever he was thinking wasn’t nothin’. Naim’s face heated, but any argument left him as Ryan pulled his leg with enough force to drag Naim lopsidedly into his lap. Ryan leaned down and pressed a wet kiss to his mouth, still grinning.
“So," he said. "What am I wearing to the party?"
"What're you doing?"
Naim leaned away from the car window, hand dropping away from his hair. "Nothing."
Ryan laughed, a deep chesty thing that materialised as white plumes and echoed down the narrow rain-wet footpath. He pulled a hand out of his jacket pocket and gripped Naim's face, fingers burning against his wind-bitten cheeks. "Fixing your hair? Lost cause, mate."
"Oh fuck off." Naim gave him a hard shove. Though Naim knew it took a lot more strength than he’d used to get Ryan losing balance, he was humoured with a generous stumble. Naim rolled his eyes, beckoning him to follow as they turned off the foot path.
The small unit was quaint, a tiny red brick with four identical ones duplicated behind it along a narrow driveway. Their destination was the first, and Naim snorted as Ryan eyed the un-mowed lawn with a disapproving eye. They hopped up the shallow concrete steps leading to Elsie's front door, music and laughter bleeding through the gap in the frame. They'd arrived later than planned, train arriving two minutes after their bus had already left the station. They’d shivered on a barred-metal bench for over half an hour as they waited for the next.
Naim knocked on the door, heart bouncing in his chest in an irregular, twitchy rhythm. He turned to Ryan and gave him a once over.
"Be normal, please."
"Fuck's that s’posed to mean?" Ryan said, leaning in close. He wound an arm around Naim's back, slid it lower, slipping fingers beneath his jacket. Naim shivered as icy digits brushed the skin above the hem of his jeans.
"That you shouldn't do shit like that,” he shrugged him off.
"Thought you said Elsie had a girlfriend.” Ryan frowned. “Aren’t we good?”
"She does,” Naim said, heart twisting. He felt a pang, concern that Ryan would believe he'd take him here and expect them to hide. He swallowed it. “We're good. But that doesn't mean her or her friends wanna see your hand down my pants."
Ryan’s expression relaxed. He put on an exaggerated pout and pressed a kiss to Naim's temple. "So strict."
Naim scoffed. "You—"
The door slammed open, Ryan and Naim both almost stumbling off the landing out of shock. The girl that’d scared them paid no mind, smiling wide, highlighter pink surrounding her head in a hair-sprayed explosion.
“Naim!”
Elsie usually restrained herself for on campus lectures and practical tutes, but she'd pulled out all the stops for her big night. Her eyeliner was done so elaborately it covered half her face, jet black lipstick smeared outside the boundary of her mouth. Elsie didn’t believe in seasons, and so though Naim and Ryan were appropriately rugged up, her legs were clad in nothing but fashionably ripped stockings and a tiny black miniskirt. The long sleeved blouse she’d paired with it was a see-through sheer. Elsie had a thing about bras being patriarchal tools for oppression, but Naim breathed a sigh of relief when he saw she at least wore a cropped tank underneath. The bottle of ginger Fat Little Lamb in her hand was a third empty, and the way she staggered slightly—other hand flying to the doorframe to steady herself—made Naim suspect she’d managed that alone.
Even well on her way to drunk, Elsie’s eyes slid from Naim to Ryan with the sharp accuracy of a sniper's beam. Her smile took on a manic shine.
"Oh. My. God."
“Uh, hullo,” Ryan greeted her. He sounded unsure, shooting Naim a look that said you sure I was invited? But he returned her terrifying smile with his own. Ryan’s default in the face of uncertainty was always a smile. “I’m Ryan.”
Elsie looked away from him, craning her head over her shoulder.
"Naim's boyfriend is here!" she screamed. "And he's hot."
Ryan coughed out a delighted laugh, turning to Naim in surprise. Naim refused to look at him, shaking his head as he stepped up into the doorway and pulled Elsie into a hug.
“Happy Birthday Els,” he said into her shoulder. “Conditions of entry met?"
Elsie grinned as he pulled away, planting a wet kiss on his cheek. Naim cringed, wiping off the smear of lipstick with his knuckles.
“Naim fuckin’ Reid.” Elsie laughed, leading them inside. “Happy fucking birthday to me.”
The rest of the party goers that knew Naim had similar reactions to him walking in with Ryan in tow. Much to Naim's offense, almost everyone's initial response was shock that Naim hadn't been lying about having a boyfriend.
"You guys thought I was lying? What the fuck?"
Claire, Elsie's girlfriend who was a much calmer and more welcoming host, gave Naim an apologetic look as she handed him a drink.
"To be fair Naim," she said. "You were weirdly cagey whenever we dared to bring him up."
"Yeah dude. You like," Elsie added, taking another swig from her rapidly emptying bottle, “couldn't mention his name without getting all flustered. Either just thinking about him made you horny or you were lying."
Ryan tugged Naim closer, grinning wide. "Is that right?"
"Shut up." Naim shoved him away, downing the remains of his cup in one go. It wasn't technically a lie, that any mention of Ryan by his friend had him stammering and red-faced. But more so because he wasn’t used to how openly his friend group discussed their partners, and the sort of details they wanted him to share. "Someone get me another drink."
Rumours dispelled, what followed was the once-twice-thrice over that had each of his friends nodding at Naim with approval and shaking his hand like he'd done them all a great service.
"No seriously Naim," Elsie whispered to him, definitely already drunk. Past the point of drunk. Fucking plastered. "I'm not even into dudes but he's hot as fuck. I'm like, genuinely impressed."
Right beside him, well within earshot of Elsie's stage-whisper, Ryan snorted. Naim rolled his eyes.
“Thanks Els.” Naim said, taking the bottle from her hand. “Appreciate it.”
Then, after the shock-turned-congratulations, came—
"Oh my god. Naim wasn't kidding when he said you're like, a man."
"Fuck's that even mean?" Ryan laughed, throat bobbing as he drank down a mouthful of beer. Elsie had managed to dig him up a bottle of Carlton Dry, and it painted Ryan as the very picture of the regional stock he was. His hand was a vice on Naim’s hip, one finger threaded through a loop on his jeans. Naim had tried to extricate himself, having already weathered more than one salacious comment from his friends. But Ryan, unbothered, stubbornly refused to let him go. Red-faced, Naim let himself be led around the party by Ryan’s hold, ignoring the suggestive looks and pleased flutter in his gut. "'Course I'm a fuckin' man."
The friend that'd spoken nodded thoughtfully, giving Ryan yet another appreciative once over. Two drinks in, Naim was buzzed enough it didn't bother him beyond a pulse of jealous heat. After all, he couldn’t blame them. Though Ryan was always irritatingly handsome in his easy, country-boy way, tonight he’d made a concentrated effort. After a shower that’d stripped him of the day’s sawdust and worksite dirt, he’d brushed a bit of product into his mess of curls, going on about how he “needed to look presentable”. He’d also made the choice of wearing the tightest tank top they owned underneath his favourite baby blue flannel. It was probably Naim’s, given how short it was on Ryan's longer torso. A sliver of skin flashed above his belt whenever he moved and Naim's eyes kept flicking there, going quiet as Ryan engaged in idle conversation. His gaze lingered the more the alcohol limited his self-awareness.
"What d'you do?" Another person chimed in. "Studying?"
Talking to Ryan was the place to be, apparently. He and Naim had amassed a small crowd around where they sat sandwiched together on the small loveseat, people perched on armrests and living room chairs, cross-legged on the floor to hear Ryan speak. They all leaned in wide-eyed like a group of children during reading hour, hanging on his every word.
"Fuck no," Ryan laughed. "Chippie. Second year apprenticeship. Work site rough carpentry mainly."
The soft-handed uni students all nodded in awe.
"Must be hard," someone piped up. "Y'know. Being queer in a work environment like that."
Ryan shrugged. "’S alright. I mean, definitely threw 'em off at first. But no one really gives a fuck s‘long as I carry my weight."
Naim's thumb scratched idly at the seam of Ryan’s jeans, silently allowing the sanitised version of the truth. It had caused many an argument between them—Ryan hiding who he was at work on the rougher, traditional-minded worksites. But Ryan wouldn't have a bar of it. He'd wanted a clean slate, when they came to Melbourne; no chance he’d trust people only to watch them turn once they got to know him better. Though Naim’s own anxiety threatened to sink him while navigating far less treacherous environments, he’d grown to understand Ryan’s perspective. It’d been harder for Ryan, leaving Bandee. Shithole, admittedly. But home, to him, in a way it never was for Naim. The people of that town and the church had raised Ryan, before they’d decided they didn’t like how he’d turned out. So he’d decided, in Melbourne, everything out in the open from the beginning.
So far, it had mostly worked out for him, which Naim suspected was less about Ryan carrying his weight and more that his regional twang and masculine way made the blokes forget who he had waiting for him at home. Though Ryan had his own struggles, unused to big city living, that’d always been something Naim envied. Naim had always felt there was something about him, something unchangeable he was born with, that made people look with a closer eye. Those around him were rarely surprised, when they found out he had a boyfriend. Not in the way jaws dropped when Ryan Whelan pulled Naim close and planted a kiss on his mouth.
But that was inconsequential, and really, not something to envy. Ryan was brave, to be open even when it'd be arguably easier for him to hide. Every now and then, there were days when he'd come home stony-faced and silent, kicking off his mud-caked boots by the door. Naim would only manage to coax it out of him later, curls damp from his shower and lights switched off.
"Some cunt said I should be ashamed," Ryan’d said, murmuring into the hollow of Naim’s collarbone. He could never look at Naim, when he admitted these things, voice raw and wet. "During smoko. Called me a fag, right there as we were all eating. And nobody said a fuckin’ thing."
Naim wasn't good with words of comfort, especially for this. All he did was pull Ryan closer and press a kiss to his mouth, warily eyeing the blind drawn over their bedroom window. It was times like these where familiar faces could appear, dead-eyed and beckoning. It didn't matter how good things had been, how long since the last sighting. It will never stop, they'd been told. The price they had to pay.
Naim kept Ryan's eyes on him.
"It'll get better," he always said. Empty words, but he hoped the thumb he stroked along Ryan's cheek filled the gap.
But maybe not so empty, as Naim couldn't remember the last time he'd had to kiss away the hard look in Ryan's eyes. Now towards the end of his second year, Ryan came home most days bone-tired, but with amusing snippets to tell over dinner on the couch. Mostly gossip, stuff the boys at work shared with him in snatches between hauling planks and the roar of power tools. The past few months they'd regularly organised Naim a place to sleep once a fortnight so he wouldn't be left alone, nights he would spend with a friend as Ryan bonded with work mates over drinks or footy games when one of them offered him an extra ticket.
"Honestly,” Ryan said with a toothy grin, pulling Naim closer by the arm around his shoulder. "You’d be surprised. I never shut up 'bout Naim. Most of the guys are dyin' to meet the missus."
Naim groaned as he saw several pairs of eyes light up.
"The missus!" Elsie shrieked in delight. "Oh my god, Naim. I'm calling you that from now on."
"Don't even fucking think about it," Naim said. He pushed up from the couch, eyes blurring as his head spun pleasantly. He was definitely tipsy, and liked how it dulled his usual anxiety at being so close to Ryan around so many eyes. Friends, but still. Sometimes his body couldn’t tell the difference. "Getting another drink, you want one?"
Ryan shook his head.
Naim thought he'd left Elsie behind, as he poured his fourth drink of the night in their tiny, wood-paneled kitchen, so he startled slightly when he felt a knock against his arm. She grinned at the alcohol he'd spilt on the counter, hooking her chin over his shoulder.
"I like him," she hummed dreamily.
Naim eyed her. "Yeah, you've said."
"No, no, genuinely." She hopped up on the counter then, swinging her legs. Her lipstick was almost all gone, traces left on the cheek of every friend she'd welcomed inside. "He's a really good guy."
"Yeah," Naim said. What could he say to that? Good guy didn’t begin cover it. Ryan had bled for him. “‘Course.”
As he fetched a can from the Esky on the counter, his eyes drifted back to Ryan on the couch. Most of his admirers had finally dispersed, but one lone straggler remained. Naim knew James from the last party Elsie had dragged him to, and had seen him from time to time on campus. They shared no classes together, but he'd been nice, when they'd spoken. Always clad in bright-coloured out-there fashion, he was little more boisterous than the friends Naim usually kept close. But he was hard not to admire and envy, standing tall without a care for what other people thought about who he was or who he liked. Brave, even in a place like Melbourne. Brave anywhere.
James leaned in close to Ryan over the armrest, chin resting on his palm. In Naim's absence, Ryan had his arm stretched lazily along the back of the couch, one leg kicked up so his ankle rested on his knee. Somewhere in between them coming inside and Naim's third drink Ryan had misplaced his flannel, leaving him in nothing but the tight-fitting black tank. Two years of a hard-labour day job had done Ryan good. The muscles of his bare arms flexed as he talked and in the warm glow of Elsie and Claire's tasteful floor-lamp lighting, his pale skin shone gold.
Elsie cleared her throat. When he tore his gaze away from Ryan to look at her, she was staring at him with one brow raised.
"What?" He said, bringing his cup to his lips. "It's only my fourth."
"Wasn't about your drink mate." Elsie leered. "You look like you're about to walk over there and drop to your knees in front of everyone."
Naim choked around the lip of the can. "Shut up. What the fuck."
"Or take a bottle and smash it over James' head."
Naim's eyes dropped to his drink. He’d been trying to swallow the hot lick of jealousy at the way James blinked pretty eyelashes up at Ryan’s smile. Learning it had shown on his face was a small humiliation. "Stop."
"No." Elsie poked out her tongue. "But you don't have to. James would never. It's painfully obvious to everyone here that Ryan is obsessed with you."
That had Naim shutting up, blood rushing to his cheeks. "We're— whatever."
"Since you were seventeen…" Elsie shook her head. "Fuck. I know you told me you went through some rough shit at the beginning but, wow. Seriously, Naim. The way you two look at each other? Shit's fucking rare.” She was still definitely drunk, words slurring, but there was something reverent within her voice that gave Naim pause. “You two are good. Really good."
Naim shifted awkwardly under her gaze, unsure what to say in response to that, uncomfortable with how it had heat pricking behind his eyes.
"Thanks, Els," Naim said. "That's— thanks."
"'Course," Elsie grinned, slipping off the counter and lazily ruffling his hair. "Don't hafta be scared to bring him round to stay sometimes, 'stead of him just dropping you off when he's got places to be. We're your people, yeah? Hope you remember that."
She was gone before Naim could muster an answer, weaving through the crowd to find Claire. As Naim watched, she wrapped a hand around Claire's slender waist, pulling her in for a kiss. Nobody around them paid any mind, except to smile and give Elsie a belated happy birthday.
Her hair had been a different colour when they'd met, a loud electric blue the same shade as the sour ghost drops Naim used to eat by the handful as a kid. He remembered her storming into the lecture hall, charms on her shoulder bag jingling obnoxiously with every step. Naim had skittishly shuffled over to give her room, even though there was already room enough. She’d grinned at him her thanks, revealing a sparkling pink gem stuck to her left canine.
“You got family in Melbourne?” She’d asked him after their third class together, pushing the remainder of their shared HSP his way. She’d barely eaten a third even though they’d gone halves on a large, something Naim suspected she’d done on purpose to leave him leftovers.
Self conscious about too many things to name, he’d given her nothing but a quiet: “Nah.”
She’d hummed.
“Partner?”
And Naim remembered the burst of anxiety in his gut, an acidic chemical reaction. He’d used his shitty wooden fork to stab chips drenched in sweet chilli and garlic, eyeing the rainbow pin Elsie had tacked to her shoulder bag. A safety net to catch him, but his heart still thundered at the prospect of the fall.
“Yeah.” Chips in his mouth. Chew. Swallow. He'd offered no more, and she hadn't pressed.
But later, first year anatomy mercifully behind them, he'd relented to an invitation to come over. There he’d met Claire for the first time, and felt the last dregs of uncertainty pass as she’d introduced herself as Elsie’s girlfriend, enveloping him in a hug. He'd accepted a hit from the joint Elsie lit up, and listened to her yarn about their insignificance, tiny dots roaming a floating rock in space. And yet the universe had a way of bringing the right people together, she’d said. How fucking beautiful is that.
"Boyfriend," he'd said, the word spilling out of him with earthy smoke. "I’ve got a boyfriend."
She'd grinned at him so wide, Naim had the silly thought that if she walked outside and set her hand on a telephone pole, she could power the entire grid.
"Yeah? What's his name?"
"Ryan," he'd told her. The first person he'd ever told. "His name's Ryan."
Now, Naim watched on from the kitchen as Elsie and Claire wandered over to Ryan, who was draped comfortably over the same couch where he’d opened up those months ago. Their exchange was swallowed by the press of noise, but Naim could see that whatever the girls said to him had Ryan’s expression going soft. His eyes flicked over to Naim still loitering in the kitchen, and he smiled.
Something warm bloomed within him, a pleasant ache in his chest.
When he flopped back down beside Ryan, he did so with a bit too much momentum, the drink in his hand spilling.
"Careful," Ryan murmured, automatically resting a hand on Naim's nape. Naim shivered as Ryan's blunt fingernails scratched lightly at his heated skin.
"Sorry," he said quietly, leaning into the touch. His head felt heavy, limbs buzzing. He was past tipsy now, well into drunk, but a different hum murmured within him. He sank into Ryan’s touch, body suffused by the feeling, shoulders loose and his heart slow.
As he lifted his wrist to his own mouth to lick clean sweet alcohol from where it dripped down his arm, he held Ryan's gaze. Ryan's pupils dilated as they tracked the movement of Naim’s tongue, lips parting around the rim of his bottle. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes flicking up to meet Naim’s.
James, who Naim had entirely forgotten was still sitting there, made a noise.
"Oh my god, y'all are nasty."
Shame threatened to rear its head, but James' grin showed all his teeth, eyes glimmering with something closer to jealousy than disgust. Naim pressed closer to Ryan until he could feel the heat of his thighs through the thick layer of denim, finding his hand and twining their fingers together.
"Sorry," he said, though he wasn't at all. Not even a little bit.
“Y’all?” Ryan laughed. “What are ya? A fuckin’ Yank?”
Naim spent the rest of the night there, curled into Ryan's side. Though a few more people came round asking after the famous Ryan Whelan, gradually the questions ran out, conversation waned, and they were left alone on the couch. Ryan didn't seem to mind. His hand slipped from Naim’s nape to his shoulder, thumb absentmindedly brushed back and forth on the bare skin where Naim had slipped off his jacket. He was hot from alcohol and the heady press of so many bodies in one small room, trying to ignore the way Ryan’s touch had something stirring within him. Party. They were at a party. Naim’s drunken mind repeated. Elsie and her friends did not want to see Ryan’s hands down his pants.
Naim was a sleepy drunk, and after swallowing the dregs of his fourth standard, he was drooping like an inflatable tube man with a leak. It was easy to relax with Ryan's arm around his shoulder, the drone of individual conversations all melting into a pleasant buzz. For them, with people came safety, and with the type that crowded Elsie’s living room, the rare kind of safety that had Naim burrowing closer into Ryan’s warmth without fear.
"You good?" Ryan's breath was hot against his ear. Naim's eyelashes fluttered.
"Mhm."
"Ya fallin’ asleep. Should we head?”
Naim hesitated for a moment. He'd spent the majority of the night plastered to Ryan's side quietly observing as he effortlessly endeared himself to his friends, and very little time actually spent with them.
"Elsie," he mumbled. He needed to say goodbye at the very least. "Where's she?"
Ryan grinned. "Disappeared down the hall with her girl.”
Rude or not, Naim didn't want to risk looking for her to bid farewell. He groaned, sitting up, blinking away the vertigo. He always overestimated his tolerance.
"C'mon." Ryan laughed, putting an arm around his waist to steady him. "Let's get ya home."
The goodbyes all blurred in Naim's drunken state, and he could do little more than smile and nod sleepily as people gave the two of them their regards. But even inebriated, he noticed the way people hugged Ryan with an easy warmth, smiles wide and genuine. Hope Naim lets you out more often, they joked. Nice to meet you, man.
The rush of icy air when they stepped outside made Naim shiver, curling closer into Ryan's side. It was late enough that they’d have to wait over an hour till the same bus they caught to get here came by. Hand in hand, they decided to brave the thirty minute walk. Naim stayed tucked under Ryan’s arm the entire way, walking with small hurried steps to stay warm as possible. Naim didn’t pull away from Ryan’s warmth as they shuffled onto the packed train. So many eyes would usually make him nervous to be plastered together as they were, but the alcohol humming in his blood made him brave enough to slide his heavy eyes closed and let Ryan guide him. They squeezed into the two-seater across from a girl and her boyfriend, Ryan apologising for Naim tripping over the man's booted foot. They might've looked twice when Naim tucked his face into Ryan's neck, but if they did, Naim didn't notice, busy inhaling the powdery scent of their soap from Ryan’s skin.
Mercifully, no bus after their train stop, their place a short walk from the station. Only ten minutes of narrow suburban footpaths dotted with watergum and flowering bottle brush, and they'd be home. They walked hand in frigid hand, elbows and shoulders knocking when that touch wasn’t enough. Some of Naim’s fatigue faded in the sobering night air, a giddy rush replacing it.
Ryan had fit in so easily. Not that Naim thought he wouldn’t, but Ryan was a rougher sort, with his regional twang, battered ute, working under the blistering sun in hi-vis and steel capped boots. Though their nights were spent together, since Naim had begun his studies there was a new degree of separation between them. Ryan had his work mates, Naim had his uni friends. Tonight was the first time there’d been crossover, where they’d socialised as a unit. Naim and Ryan. Ryan and Naim. The two of you get home safe. They’d been told by the party goers, genuinely sad to see them go. See you again soon, yeah?
Rain fine as dust danced in the streetlights, prickling on Naim’s cheeks. As they passed under a low paperbark tree growing in the center of a neighbour's strip, he suddenly stopped.
"Naim," Ryan said, tugging on his hand. "You okay?"
Okay. Yes, yes, Naim was okay. Still a little drunk maybe, slightly off balance. But there was a roar in his chest demanding attention, an insistent hum in the pit of his stomach. They were in the street, among neighbours who would know their faces, if they peered out their shuttered windows. But with a sense of wonder, Naim realised he didn’t care.
He pulled Ryan close, not checking twice as he crashed their mouths together. He didn't kiss him with hunger, not exactly, but there was a desperation to it, a need to convey the rush of fondness and excitement coursing through him. I can kiss you, Naim wanted to say, but it wouldn't make sense to prideful, rarely-afraid Ryan. I can kiss you.
Confused as he was, Ryan returned Naim's kiss with equal enthusiasm. He let go of Naim's hand to pull him closer, noses icy against ruddy cheeks, mouths warm. They were pressed so close that a passerby would likely mistake them for a single person, taking shelter from the misty rain under a twisted paperbark.
"Shit," he murmured into Naim's mouth once they parted, mouths slick and shining under the amber streetlight. "You’re takin’ me to your friend's parties more often if they get ya like this."
Naim bit back his grin, shoving him away and running down the footpath in a childish stumble-skip.
"Race you home.”
Ryan smiled, shook his head, and jogged over to meet him.
The house keys tumbled out of Naim's hand as Ryan maneuvered them inside, shutting the front door behind with a well-aimed kick. His mouth moved against Naim’s in the kiss they'd started on the path leading up to their unit. He shrugged his jacket off without breaking it, backing Naim up against the wall.
"Wait," Naim tried in between kisses. "Wanna— Wanna take my boots off."
He gasped when Ryan bit his lip, tongue sweeping over to soothe the sting. Ryan pushed off Naim's jacket, tugging at the hem of his shirt and pulling it free from his jeans. Naim's belt buckle clinked as Ryan deftly worked it undone, cold fingers making him shiver where they brushed against skin. "Hm?"
"Boots.”
Ryan grinned, sinking to his knees. As his hands undid the laces on Naim's battered Doc Martens, he pressed kisses to the softness of his stomach. Naim's head fell back against the wall, knees going weak at the feel of Ryan's tongue against such sensitive skin.
Feet pried free, Ryan still didn't rise, face remaining level with Naim's zipper, his hot breath ghosting the fabric.
"Ryan," Naim said, twisting a hand in Ryan's curls. "Ryan, wait—"
But Ryan was already pulling down his zipper, mouth closing over Naim's rapidly hardening cock through his underwear. Naim sighed, instinctively arching into the touch. The low level of arousal he’d been nursing all night—absentmindedly squeezing his thighs together as he’d sipped his drink and praying nobody was looking as he readjusted his jeans—unabashedly reared its head. To finally have Ryan touch him how he’d been straining for was maddeningly good, and given how Ryan's eyes shone as they darted up to meet his promised that if Naim shut the hell up and let Ryan have his way, it would only get better.
He wanted to let him, have Ryan pull down his jeans and empty his mind with his mouth and his tongue. But though the alcohol’s effects had mostly passed, there was something else buzzing through Naim's blood, something that had him fisting a hand in Ryan’s hand and pulling his mouth away.
"Stop," he said. "Ryan, seriously."
Ryan stubbornly relented, mouth open and face flushed. He looked so fucking eager, Naim almost caved.
But no. He wanted— He needed—
"I wanna shower," he said.
Ryan blinked up at him, pupils blown. "Alright. Not gonna stop you. Just let me—"
"No," Naim said, stepping sideways out of Ryan's path. "I'm gonna shower now."
"Naim, the fuck are you—" His fingers hooked over the back of Naim's jeans, pulling him back. "Fine, fine, you can shower. But let me suck you off first, yeah? C'mon please. I've been waiting all night."
Naim hesitated, wanting to explain why he couldn't, why he needed to pull away now before his courage waned.
"Go wait in bed for me,” is all he could manage, tugging himself free and leaving Ryan on his knees by the door.
When Naim pushed into their room, Ryan was obediently waiting on the bed.
He'd kept his party clothes on, except for the baby-blue flannel he’d abandoned on the floor. The black tank was rucked up high, his lower abdomen muscles tensed above a belt buckle still tightly fastened. Ryan threw his phone to the side the second Naim walked in. Even concealed by black denim, his straining erection was hard to ignore.
"Finally," he said, sitting up. “What the hell took you so long?”
He reached for him, but didn’t get far before Naim's knees sank into the mattress beside his thighs. Ryan surged up to meet his lips in a kiss, mouth open. He was eager, but still kissed him slow, hands sliding underneath the thin material of the ratty basketball shorts Naim always wore to bed.
"No jocks?" Ryan grinned shamelessly, entire hand up the back of Naim's shorts. Naim kissed him in lieu of an answer, hard enough that the two of them fell backwards onto the mattress.
They only kissed, for a while, licking their way into each other's mouths and letting hands roam. Naim loved kissing like this, loved the addicting push and pull and the way Ryan could read him. He always knew the exact angle to have Naim’s mind empty, unapologetically sighing into the heat of Ryan’s mouth. But after being kept waiting, Ryan was understandably impatient. His kiss became messier, desperate, hips rolling into Naim’s weight, hard cock straining against his fly. Had he touched himself while Naim showered? His zipped fly, fastened belt, and the way he shamelessly rutted against Naim’s thigh seemed to indicate he’d waited, but Ryan made it hard to tell. He was always so fucking desperate.
Something insistently buzzed beneath Naim’s skin, building to an unavoidable peak. He broke away from the kiss but stayed close, panting into Ryan’s mouth as he stammered out the words he’d been working up to all night.
“Wanna finger me?”
Ryan's dilated eyes blinked up at him, widening. “You—What’d you just say?”
“‘M not gonna repeat it." Naim flushed. "Yes or no?”
“Are you fucking mental?”
Ryan rolled them over in one fluid motion and pressed Naim into the mattress. Naim gasped as his mouth was captured in a bruising kiss, shirt pushed up and off. Rising up on his knees, Ryan briefly pulled away to peel off his black tank. Naim panted, hungrily eyeing Ryan’s naked chest already flushed from arousal. His hands flew to Ryan’s belt to undo the clasp and tug it free.
“Oh god,” Ryan said as Naim made quick work of his fly. “You really— You’re fucking insane.” The product he’d brushed through his hair was all gone now thanks to Naim’s twisting and tugging. Golden curls stood up every which way in an absolute mess. Naim pulled him back down by the roots, eagerly licking into his mouth and rolling his hips upwards against where Ryan’s fly gaped.
"What's gotten into you?" Ryan moaned into his mouth, kicking off his jeans. He worked a hand between them, fingers unceremoniously slipping underneath the loose hem of Naim’s shorts and wrapping around his leaking cock. "Not that I'm complaining."
“Nothing.” Naim gasped, throwing his head back in the pillows. “Just— get on with it."
Ryan pulled away, tugging open the drawer and fishing around among the junk they let pile up: charger, spare change, tiny tea candles and three separate lighters. A moment later he was back at Naim’s side, uncapping their small bottle of lube. Bought six months ago and still two thirds full.
Naim slipped his shorts off, kicking them to the side. Ryan grabbed one of his ankles and tugged Naim down the mattress until he was lying flat. He loomed over Naim, one forearm beside his head as he leaned over to kiss him.
“Ready?”
Naim turned his face into the pillows.
“Are you gonna touch me or just keep talking?”
Ryan laughed. “Touch,” he said. “Definitely touch.”
The first press made Naim shiver, and he instinctively tensed at the foreign feeling. But his time in the shower had Ryan’s finger meeting little resistance as it breached the tight ring of muscle, the slide was addictingly easy with lube. Ryan's hot breath against his neck was a welcome distraction as Naim got used to the intrusion. Though Naim didn’t allow this often—definitely not as much as Ryan wanted—so far, it was familiar. Ryan was relentless with his begging—a finger, just one, I want it so bad, I need to please, please, until Naim would acquiesce, head spinning from Ryan's overwhelming desire as he slipped a finger inside.
Even knowing they were safe—in their own place now, no housemates to hear through thin walls—it was hard to hand himself over so completely. Hands and mouths on his cock were easy, something natural in the way Ryan's hands looked around him, something acceptable about the wet heat of his mouth. But being touched there—it always felt like a step too far, passing the boundary of something from where he couldn’t turn back. So, tiny bottle of lube bought six months ago, still two thirds full.
But tonight, as Ryan found that spot inside him that had Naim’s hands fisting in the sheets, it didn't come with an aftereffect of unease. His cock jumped, untouched and exposed to open air. Ryan’s eyes were heavy on every twitch of his face, and Naim could feel the press of his cock against his thigh, hot and leaking from the tip. He shifted, biting back a moan as Ryan gently stroked him from the inside in a rhythmic come hither. Good, but not enough. His eyelashes fluttered. Don't hold back, Naim wanted to tell him. I want you to—
“Fuck, fuck, stop—” Naim gasped, and Ryan stilled immediately.
“Sorry, too much? You alright?” Ryan’s finger slipped free. He lay a hand on Naim's heaving chest.
Naim looked up at him. Unnatural, a part of him protested, a voice that was with him as steadily as the thing that wore Ryan’s face. You shouldn’t want this.
The mattress springs creaked as Naim turned onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillows. He couldn't bring himself to get up on his knees, but the cool air that brushed the skin of his thighs told him Ryan had all the access he needed.
“Keep going,” Naim said, words muffled by cotton. “You can keep going.”
Ryan groaned, sweaty forehead dropping between Naim’s shoulder blades. “God Naim, ya gonna be the fuckin' death of me.”
It was easier like this, for Naim to lose himself in the feeling. Face hidden, gasps and moans swallowed by the pillows, he was less conscious about how he must look, being touched in this way. Ryan slipped a second finger in beside the first, and Naim rolled his hips into the sheets, gasping at the friction of cotton against his leaking cock. So good, but utterly humiliating, to have his ass in the air as Ryan worked two fingers inside of him. Fucking filthy.
"Oh my god, Naim." Ryan moaned above him, slick fingers sliding in and out. "You have no idea how fucking good you look right now."
Naim whimpered. He bent the pillow around his ears, keening as Ryan crooked his fingers. Sweat prickled on his hairline. Ryan buried his nose there, pressed a kiss to his nape, his shoulder, mouth trailing down Naim's spine in wet kisses. His fingers bent, pressing hard against the place inside him that had Naim going rigid, cock weeping wetness onto the sheets.
“You know,” Ryan said, leaning down to talk right into his ear. Naim shivered, torn between the urge to pull Ryan down harder or shove him off entirely. “Your friend said something to me, when you left to go to the kitchen with Elsie."
Naim's stomach twisted. He didn't want to think about James right now, Ryan two fingers deep in his ass. Didn't like that Ryan's mind had the capacity to wander. Ryan could probably feel his displeasure, muscles tensing around his fingers. The thought made Naim flush with heat.
"Something ‘bout how I look at you, like I want to eat you alive."
Without warning, Ryan pulled his fingers out, and forgetting himself, Naim let out a needy whine. He was about to shift, turn over to see what the hell Ryan was doing, when he felt hot breath ghost the back of his thighs.
"I do. Fuck I need to, Naim. C'mon, please?"
Naim gasped, forehead falling back into the pillows. "No," he mumbled. "Ryan that's—"
"It'll feel good Naim, it’ll feel so fucking good. Trust me, you can trust me, yeah?” His breath moved higher, a wet, open-mouthed kiss pressed against the back of his thigh. “I'll make it feel good for you, promise. You know I make you feel good.”
Naim wanted to punch him, wanted to stop him from running his filthy fucking mouth. He couldn’t understand why Ryan wanted him like that, or why it had a hot stab of arousal pulsing in his gut. It couldn’t be normal to want this. This couldn’t be right.
"Fine." Naim shot over his shoulder. "Fucking fine. Before I change my mind."
The press of Ryan's tongue inside him was indescribable.
Parts of it were like when Ryan got on his knees, eagerly using his mouth on Naim’s cock like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. That was filthy too, how much Ryan liked it, how he always took him deeper and swallowed him down as Naim trembled and fell apart. Other parts of it were incomparable to anything else. Wet heat, pressure as Ryan kissed and sucked. Saliva gathered and dripped down his perineum, over his balls. His face heated at the feeling of Ryan's face buried there, his wanton moans vibrating inside of him. Naim’s own litany spilled past his lips. Through the sickening shame, it felt good. Being wet. Open. Between his stomach and the sheets, his cock throbbed, edge suddenly rushing forward to meet him.
“Stop,” Naim reached back with one hand, pushing at Ryan's head. “Fuck, fuck— ‘M gonna come. Stop."
"'S good?” Ryan’s voice was low, wrecked like he’d ran a hike. He sounded giddy, boyish, so fucking excited. His fingers replaced his tongue, slide shockingly easy with the added wetness. “Shit, you’re so fuckin’ responsive tonight."
It was almost too much sometimes, the intensity with which Ryan desired him. But god, Naim wanted to be overwhelmed, completely taken apart.
Lost in the slide of Ryan’s fingers, the words slipped out.
"Fuck me.”
Ryan's fingers stilled inside of him, pleasure ebbing. Naim bit his lip when Ryan suddenly gripped his face, forcing him to look back. Their noses bumped. "Naim, are you serious?"
A little annoying, to be asked that with fingers in his ass and hard cock leaking fluid onto the sheets, but he couldn't fault him. Naim could, after all, count on only one hand the amount of times they'd tried what he just asked for. And each time it had always been Ryan who pushed, lustful, shameless, not afraid to ask for what he wanted. Or, needed, as he would so often pant into Naim's mouth. Fuck Naim, please. Need it. Need you.
"Yeah," he murmured. "You wanna?"
"Fucking Christ," Ryan groaned.
Naim whimpered as Ryan's fingers moved inside him again. He arched into the touch, trying to quiet the persistent whispers of how dirty it was, how wrong.
"You really want it," Ryan said with a sense of awe, sliding a third finger in beside the others. Naim hissed at the stretch, but relaxed as the discomfort slowly eased. Thanks to the work of Ryan's tongue, Naim felt open and loose in a way he'd never before. His stomach fluttered in anticipation. "Fuck, Naim. You're taking it so well. I can make it good for you, this time. Promise I can make it good."
This time, because they'd tried this before—Naim face down, Ryan slowly opening him up with purpose. But the press of something bigger than fingers had always had Naim tensing, body locking itself closed. And though Ryan had cooed, stroked him all the while, with this, Naim couldn’t seem to get past a block. Discomfort always prevented any pleasure. And though Naim would be happy for Ryan to take him anyway, Ryan refused, seeming troubled that Naim would even suggest it.. ‘S not good for me, like that.
So they’d try again months later, previous attempt a distant memory, buried under countless nights of Naim shaking apart in Ryan’s hold. Ryan would go slow, being almost overly gentle so there wasn’t even a hint of pain—no reason for Naim’s body to reject him. But it was never enough. Stop, Naim would gasp, tears pricking at his eyes. I can't. And Ryan would kiss away his apologies, turn them into gasps and whines as he flipped him over and took Naim's cock down till it hit the back of his throat. Don't be fuckin' stupid. All of it's good with you.
"God." Ryan twisted his fingers, the wet sounds punctuating his ragged breathing and Naim's whimpering moans. "Listen to you."
All of it good, but Naim had never felt like this. Years on from Bandee, part of him was still scared of how Ryan made him feel. The things he made him want. Maybe he'd never be able to let go of that fear entirely, ruined by what they'd been through in more ways than a murderous shadow. But tonight there was an ache inside of him like a bruise and Naim needed desperately for it to be pressed.
"Shut up," he hissed into the pillows. He was already overwhelmed, and Ryan running his mouth didn’t help the pressure building behind his eyes.“If you’re gonna do it, then just— just fucking—”
A hand curling around his shoulder was all the warning Naim received before he was flipped, bouncing slightly on the mattress. Ryan loomed over him, chin drenched in saliva, mouth red and disgustingly wet. Dark pupils eclipsed blue almost entirely.
"No," Naim said, shrugging out of Ryan's hold. He flipped back over, burying his face into the pillows. "Like this."
Ryan's eyes on his face as he pushed inside would be too much while he felt like this, open and raw like a fresh wound. Far too much.
For a moment Naim's back remained bare, and he almost feared Ryan had left him there, fed up with how pushy he was being. But then heat came down to meet him. Ryan's body pressed flush against him from shoulder to thigh, radiating heat and sticky with sweat. His cock nudged against the small of Naim's back, hard and leaking. There was a wet sound as Ryan slicked himself up with lube, and then Naim’s stomach tensed as he felt a blunt pressure press against his rim.
"Alright?" Ryan murmured into his ear. Naim nodded.
As it had before, it hurt when Ryan finally pushed past the tight ring of muscle, but only slightly. A dull ache that was almost pleasure, in the way it stole all of Naim's focus. The long time Ryan had indulged in opening him up with fingers and tongue made the slide natural, hole wet with a filthy mix of spit and lube. Soon the ache faded, and all he felt was fullness and the rush of air on his neck from Ryan’s pants. His grunts and groans betrayed how much effort it was taking for him to go slow. All his attention on Naim, had he touched himself once this entire time? Naim wanted to tell him to let go, drive his body into his without restraint.
But even this unhurried press had Naim trembling and his hands twisted in the sheets. Something soft tickled the top of his ass, the thatch of hair at the base of Ryan’s cock meeting skin as he bottomed out. Naim moaned, abdomen clenching. It wasn't pleasure so much as relief, and Naim marveled at the fullness. Fullness that was Ryan. A trickle of pleasure spread through him, a touch of pride. They’d never gotten this far before, Ryan buried so deep. Naim allowed himself to picture what the two of them must look like, even as it had heat rising to his face. Ryan plastered on top of him, cock entirely sheathed in the heat of his body. Naim, face down in the pillows. Taking it.
But then Ryan started moving, and Naim couldn’t picture much of anything.
Ryan continued to take it achingly slow, not pulling out to drive back in but staying buried, languidly rolling his hips. It was enough to have Naim gasping and whining into the pillows. Ryan panted above him, sweat dripping from his nose onto the back of Naim's neck. Naim knew the slow pace was for his benefit, that Ryan's body was begging him for more, to take him with the vigor Naim knew he was capable of, but Naim couldn’t let him. Just this was almost too much.
"Oh my god Naim, you're so—" Ryan grunted, the hand on Naim's waist squeezing. Naim's eyes rolled as he pushed impossibly deeper. "—so fucking tight."
Naim sunk his teeth into the pillow. He felt winded, like that time in P.E. when the biggest boy in Naim’s year had tackled him from behind and sent him slamming into the grass. Entire body rigid, stuck in a panicked brace. His mouth gaped as he fought for air, willing his body to accept the intrusion. Because it wasn’t an intrusion, not really. Just Ryan.
And Naim wanted him to feel good.
Naim breathed slowly, making his muscles unlock, letting his body unfurl and sink into the mattress. He focused on the weight of Ryan’s body above him, suffusing him with heat. Lukewarm half-existence. He reached back blindly until he hit skin, fingers groping at Ryan’s ribs and pulling him deeper. “More,” Naim murmured. I can take it. I can be good for you, like you're always good for me. “Go faster.”
“Jesus,” Ryan hissed. “Fucking Christ.” But he obeyed, hips snapping forward.
It was easy to get lost in it, after that. Their ragged breaths punctuated the muted slap of skin against skin, Naim’s whimpers and moans swallowed by the press of pillows around his face. Somewhere along his building pace, Ryan had found the tight bundle of nerves inside him. His cock rubbed against it incessantly, waves of pleasure crashing through Naim with every stroke. Naim’s own cock throbbed where it was stuck between his stomach and the mattress, but he made no attempt to reach for it. With him relaxed and open, this was already leagues better than their other attempts, and with every thrust the pleasure only compounded.
And it was bringing him more than just pleasure. He was getting to that place, the floating out of body sense that overcame him sometimes when Ryan took charge and had his way. He only got there when they’d use up hours, kissing each other's mouths raw under sweaty sheets as they took turns until the other was ready to go again. Even then it had never felt like this, so intense. There was a oneness in his body, senses connecting, or maybe collapsing, all tuned into the place where Ryan’s body entered his. Ryan not just touching him, but inside and surrounding him, taking him over completely. There was no pain anymore, and no guilt. Only Ryan, and the pleasure he gave him. Ryan, Ryan, Ryan.
Then suddenly, the heat behind him was gone, a sickening emptiness spreading through him as Ryan pulled out. Naim crashed back into himself. A broken keen escaped his mouth, something almost animal.
A hand on his shoulder tugged, pulled, and suddenly Naim was on his back, mattress springs creaking, cool air on his dripping cock. His mouth was red and sore from gnawing at their pillows, eyes wet. Naim cringed. Back in his body, he felt unflatteringly naked and exposed. But before he could stiffen and close up, a body forced its way between his legs.
“God, Naim.” Ryan breathed, voice breaking. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Naim was saved from telling Ryan to shut the hell up by a mouth crashing into his. It became easier then, to relent at the change of position. Naim's brain steadily turned back off, Ryan eagerly licking into his mouth like a man starved.
Ryan worked a hand in between their bodies, hand wrapping around Naim’s weeping cock. Naim gasped into his mouth and rolled his hips up to meet the touch. He relaxed into the mattress, letting Ryan kiss and stroke him back to the edge, teetering. But the emptiness inside him remained. Now that he knew what it was like to be filled, suddenly just a hand wasn't enough.
“Back in,” Naim murmured, before he could think better of it. He latched his mouth onto the slip of skin below Ryan’s ear, nose buried in golden curls. His skin was wet with sweat, and though Naim would surely find it gross afterwards when they both came down, in the heat of it he laved his tongue down the length of Ryan’s neck and savoured the salt. “Back inside. Please.”
“Oh god,” Ryan shuddered above him, muscles going stiff where Naim’s hand groped at his back. “You’re gonna fucking kill me Naim.”
Maybe he was, but if he did they’d die together, and Naim wasn’t going to his grave without coming first. Ryan could keel over and breathe his last after he’d done what he always promised he would. Make him feel good.
“Fuck me,” Naim whined. “C’mon.”
Ryan groaned, a desperate, broken thing. "Spread your legs for me."
And it was fucking filthy to be told that, and even filthier that Naim obeyed without pause, knees parting to give Ryan room like it was instinct. Any shred of shame or guilt that lived within him had vanished, and Naim found it easy to lay back and let Ryan grip his legs, handling him into position. Naim's mouth watered as he eyed the way Ryan’s muscled arms flexed, his cock red and hard. He was suddenly glad Ryan had flipped him over, if only for the view.
Blunt pressure, a dull ache, and Ryan’s hips pressed flush against the back of his thighs. Easier the second time. Naim’s head fell back against the pillows, mouth agape.
Then Ryan started talking.
“Fucking hell, Naim. You look so hot right now, so fucking hot. Can’t believe you’re taking me like this, look at you, fuckin’ Christ.”
Naim’s eyes fluttered open. His vision blurred, sparking white every time Ryan’s cock hit home. He blinked, eyes narrowing on a flash of silver among golden hair and swathes of flushed skin. Raising a hand, he stroked Ryan’s jaw, his neck, until his fingers snagged on cold metal. A particularly deep thrust had Naim gasping, eyes rolling back. But even blind, Ryan’s body was traveled terrain, and his fingertips soon brushed the warm wetness of his intended destination.
“Naim,” Ryan said. Naim felt his lips move against his fingers, his name as a hot puff of air. “What’re you—”
Naim pushed the thin metal chain past Ryan’s lips. Following the chain to the clasp, he pulled, and watched as Ryan’s head slightly jerked back.
“There,” Naim said, their eyes meeting. “Now shut up and fuck me.”
Ryan’s eyes dilated, hips stuttering, head falling onto Naim’s shoulder as he groaned, deep and guttural. Naim threaded a hand through sweat damp curls and tugged, whining impatiently at the loss of movement.
"C'mon," he whined, back arching. "C'mon."
Ryan sucked in a ragged breath, headboard creaking as his hand clamped onto the wood. He'd begged for it, but Naim was unprepared for the way Ryan delivered. His hips rolled into him in a gutting rhythm, gradually building until the pace was unrelenting. It was impossible to keep up with, so Naim didn't even try. His head fell back against the pillows and he let Ryan wipe his mind clean.
Naim didn't even know he was close until Ryan slid a hand between their sweat slick bodies and wrapped a hand around him. Moments later he was coming, hands gripping the muscles of Ryan's back as he went rigid. His vision blurred, body flooding with waves of pleasure as he trembled and twitched. Ryan moaned in his ear, not halting the movement of his hips as he helped him ride it out. Clarity returned and Naim gasped, slapping at Ryan's back at the shock of overstimulation.
Ryan pulled out, stroked himself once, twice, and finished on Naim's stomach with a broken cry. Naim blinked dazedly as he tried to regain linear thinking, chest heaving. Ryan's mouth found his, sloppy kisses stealing more of Naim's breath away and knocking his mind back off course. He winced, pulling away, feeling metal catch on his teeth.
"Shit." Naim murmured. Ryan looked a mess, chin shiny with saliva and deep red lines from the corners of his mouth where the chain dug in. "Sorry."
Ryan let the chain slip from his mouth, heaving a breathless laugh. "Are you kidding? That was fuckin’ hot. We should check if some of my brains shot out of my dick just then. I feel like fuckin’ jelly."
Naim groaned, pulling Ryan down into his neck. "Shut up. Oh my god."
Ryan mouthed wet kisses up Naim's neck, lips curved up into a satisfied grin. “Shit, you came so fucking much. ‘S good wasn’t it?”
Naim’s face heated at the memory of his own cries, the brief flash he’d seen of Ryan’s cock driving in and out of him. Ryan’s shifting caused cold air to waft over the wetness on his stomach and Naim cringed.
"Get something to clean me up," he deflected, pushing at Ryan's shoulder. The mattress springs creaked as Ryan moved, fetching the black tank from the floor. Before Naim could protest he'd pressed it to Naim's stomach and started rubbing.
"Ryan, gross," He groaned, weakly slapping at Ryan's arm. "That's my shirt you cunt."
Ryan discarded the soiled cotton back on the floor, tugging Naim close and pulling the doona over their naked bodies."'S fine." He yawned. "I'll wash it tomorrow."
Not fine. Naim was still wet between his thighs, and he'd regret forgetting to brush his teeth in the shower when he woke up tomorrow with a rancid mouth and pulsing headache, but Ryan's arm was locked around his waist. Naim shifted closer, lifting his head to tug Ryan's other arm underneath his ear. Surrounded by Ryan’s warmth, lulled by the steady drum of his heart, drifting away took only moments.
Els🦩
12:21 AM
yo naim where'd u and ryan go
did you cunts LEAVE?
irish goodbye on my birthday wowwwwww
hope the dick was worth it bitch
give ryan my regards
Me
10:32 AM
it was
happy birthday
🖕