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Fadel had decided. There was something even more foolish that existed aside from hope, something that was as equally a foreign concept to him. It lingered in the questions Style asked him and the way he invited Fadel to talk about impossible things. The sincerity and emphasis Style placed into every syllable as if he really thought Fadel was worthwhile enough to pose those questions to. As if he was actually interested in knowing the answers Fadel gave. Fadel had little experience with love, and he’d quickly learned that it was not better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. In fact, he wished he hadn’t even tried to explore the idea of love. It was definitely easier, in his career field, to be someone with no meaningful attachments. There was too much risk involved. Too many possibilities of the other person winding up as collateral in a zero-sum game. It was easier to live his life within the boundaries he’d set for himself. The foundation painstakingly laid by Mae and the walls erected by his own willingness to comply with the rules she’d made for him. It was easier and it was better for things to stay the same. Then, out of nowhere, Style had appeared in his life, sowing chaos and discord in Fadel’s carefully constructed reality. He still hated it. It still felt unsettling, uncomfortable. Despite that, and his suspicions, his doubts, his questioning at Style’s sometimes erratic behavior, Fadel was finding that the percentage with which he trusted the other man was beginning to exceed the percentage which didn’t. Perhaps that’s why he’d found himself giving in to Style, even though that situation had nothing to do with him. What his brother did was his business, unless it garnered undue and unwanted attention. Whatever conflict Bison had with Kant’s – Fadel found himself reluctantly beginning to refer to the asshole by name, though he still didn’t like him – ex-hookup, what did that have to do with him? Besides, he knew trying to talk Bison out of whatever inadvisable decision he was in the process of making was a futile effort at best. Nevertheless, he couldn’t say no to Style. Something about that was more troubling than he wanted to admit. It was further proof to himself that he was slipping. Quite possibly, he’d even completely fallen off the ledge. He’d joined Bison down in the pits of hell. A place where he was daring to allow himself to hope, to imagine a future, and a world where he wasn’t bound by Mae’s rules. Where, possibly, he got to be someone who was more than just a weapon aimed at whomever their next target would be. It was also probably why he’d agreed to go on a double date with his brother of all the ridiculous things. Why he’d agreed to wear the damn t-shirt even though it was as equally ridiculous as the idea of the double date. Why, in contrast to his words of protest, he was still wearing it long after he and Style had left the bowling alley. The growing feelings and trust he still refused to name were also likely the impetus for him deferring the smarter option of going home and instead following Style back to the garage. He knew what Mae would say if she was aware that he was here. First of all, Mae would be incensed that he’d broken the rules and that he had a boyfriend. Reluctantly, but even so. She'd be even more pissed about him being at the garage rather than back at his own house preparing for the job. Yet, all of that was like background noise to the alcohol still buzzing pleasantly in his head from the beer earlier as he laid out on Style’s bed. It hadn’t taken much convincing to get him here, either. Maybe there was some merit in what Style had said. When you had a boyfriend, it wasn’t like you had to try particularly hard to get laid. All Style had to do was put a hand on his thigh and he was already sold. Hell. He was in hell. Or maybe this was heaven? Could it be something in between? All he knew was that lying here, watching Style watch him and lift his shirt over his head made Fadel dizzy, and it wasn’t the alcohol. He wasn’t even close to tipsy, but there was something about the way that Style looked that made him feel like he was drunk on…something. Fadel allowed his eyes to sweep up Style’s chest, glancing over the bruises that were mottled and fading, disappearing into the waistband of Style’s jeans where they were slung low on his hips. The gold chain at his neck glittered, accentuating the curve of his collarbone and illuminating its shadow where it dipped into a ‘V’ at the center of his neck. Fadel wet his lips, remembering just yesterday when they were downstairs. The playfulness of their role-play, and how hot it had been to go down on Style while the other man sent tools clattering onto the floor, scattershot, as he writhed in ecstasy. As if sensing the direction of Fadel’s thoughts, Style tossed his shirt behind him and lowered himself onto the bed. Knees and hands making contact with the mattress as he crawled on all fours to lever himself over Fadel’s prone form. The chain around Style’s neck swayed over him as if tempting him to grab it and test its weight. See what would happen if he could use it to guide Style even closer to him. But he left those thoughts to be just that, his mind now fixating on the heat in Style’s gaze, which lay in direct contrast to the seriousness of his words when he spoke. “You know,” Style said. “It feels so weird every time I’m with you?” Fadel was more than used to the sometimes seemingly random tangents Style would go on. This was a strange form of pillow talk, but he was willing to humor the other man. For now. “How so?” Fadel asked, not certain if he was that invested in the answer but wanting to ask the question anyway. “Sometimes you make me feel so scared,” Style told him. Not like Fadel didn’t know that. It was visible in the other man’s eyes; the way he would sometimes flinch from Fadel’s touch and then play it off. As if Fadel wouldn’t notice. As if Fadel wouldn’t see. “And sometimes you make me feel so safe.” Style continued. That statement was far more unexpected than the first. He couldn’t imagine what would make someone like Style feel safe around him. Then again, the man did have a penchant for haring off and doing bizarre, sometimes dangerous things. It was kind of his MO. “It wouldn’t hurt to be wary of me,” Fadel cautioned. That was an understatement. What did Style know about him, truly? Could he really tolerate someone like Fadel? There was so much blood on his hands, so many people he’d killed. He couldn’t even say he really regretted it, in the end. After all, those people were the worst of the lot. What did it matter if he took justice into his own hands? It was better than letting them walk free in the world. While he could accept that reality, he wasn’t sure if Style would be able to. Fadel didn’t enjoy killing, but he wasn’t like Bison. He didn’t get particularly hung up on the inner workings of the job. That didn’t stop him from wanting his own life. Someday. But that had more to do with personal ambition than it did with any type of self-recrimination for the actions he’d taken. Yet something about Style’s warmth, blanketing him, bracketing him in with something that felt oddly like comfort and safety, Fadel was beginning to question his own logic and reasoning. Before, his motivation had been his goals. To build a life away from the one his mother had created for him. In that picture, it had always been him. Alone. Or with Bison. Never with a person who could be considered a lover. Now, he wondered if, possibly, that didn’t have to be the case. It was an insane idea. Impossible. Impractical. But something about this moment, about Style, made the impossibility of it almost seem real. “Like I said, no one can truly lay themselves bare for someone.” Fadel was surprised at the softness of his own voice. Was this what he had come to? He didn’t recognize who he was in this moment, but one thing would always be true. “The real me, might be scarier than you think.” “Will you lay yourself bare for me? I promise that no matter who you are, I’ll still like you.” Style said. Did Style even know what he was asking? Did he realize the implications of his question? Could Fadel lay himself bare? It was easier asking for the sun to rise in the west than it would be for Fadel to lower his barriers like that. He meant what he’d said to Style. No one could lay themselves completely bare to anyone. Everyone had their secrets. Everyone had a story. Everyone had a reason why they held part of themselves back. It was simply human nature. It kept you safe. Protected from the worst when the inevitable came. In Fadel’s experience, people didn’t always leave because they wanted to, but they always left all the same. Whether by death or some other reason, parting was a foregone conclusion. Wasn’t it better to reserve a part of yourself, so that when the parting did happen, there was something still there to hold onto long after that person was gone? Added to that, information was power. It was leverage. Fadel knew all too well the ways that it could be used to manipulate people and situations to your advantage. What did Style know about any of that? He didn’t know the seedy underbelly of the world that Fadel walked in. Didn’t know about the darkness he’d submerged himself in until it had soaked through his skin and marrow, down to his very soul. If Style caught a glimpse of that, Fadel couldn’t say he’d even blame him if he ran in the other direction. Rather than saying all that, though, Fadel only scoffed. “Words are cheap. I’ll do that when you’re ready. You can judge, then.” Even he wasn’t sure whether he was lying. It scared him more than he was willing to admit. Or show. “One day, I’ll be your 100%.” Style declared, his voice quieter than usual. As if something about the atmosphere they’d surrounded themselves with necessitated subtlety. The ability to whisper confidences into quiet. Not that Fadel had any intentions of doing that, but the invitation was there and present all the same. Because he didn’t want to respond to Style’s statement, he didn’t. Letting the words fade into the closeness of the room and the soft susurration of Style lifting his shirt. Instinctively, Fadel tensed, unsure what the other man was trying to do. He made himself relax when he felt Style’s lips brush over the scar on his chest. Deep beneath the skin, contained in its prison of bones, his heart squeezed itself into a painful palpitation at the tenderness of the gesture. It was the single most gentle thing anyone had ever done for him. It broke something open inside of him, that fragile thing he didn’t want to name, but was begging for release and beating against the cage of his ribs. What had Mae told him? Show nothing. Never let anyone see what you’re thinking. He forced his face into a faux mask of stillness, while his insides roiled under the tumult unknowingly wrought by the softness of Style’s lips. “I just hope you don’t get any new scars.” Style said it with a kind of simplicity Fadel envied. He pretended like it didn’t terrify him, preferring to let Style kiss him and drown out the emotions he refused to name. It was easier, wasn’t it? Hadn’t they done this before? Giving in to lust was a simpler solution than trying to parse through all of that. “Let me,” Style murmured the words against Fadel’s mouth, the sound of them nearly swallowed in the mingling of their breath. Hell. He was certain now. That’s exactly where he was. Some karmic retribution for all the things that he’d done. That was why he was being presented with everything that he craved and wanted, but logically knew he should refuse. He didn’t – he shouldn’t – trust Style. He’d been caught in the mechanisms of the trap he’d laid. Style may have decided to play with the devil, but here they were, both burning in the flames. Fadel wasn’t a submissive man, and he certainly wasn’t now, but there was something so erotic about sinking into Style’s kisses, as he made his way down Fadel’s chest. Into the press of Style’s thumbs on the peaks of his nipples, stimulating them in a way that had Fadel’s breath catching in the back of his throat. His eyes fluttered closed, head pressing into the pillow behind him. He wasn’t as sensitive there as Style, but it still felt good. He inhaled sharply as Style went to work on his jeans, choosing to undo the button with his mouth rather than unfastening it like a normal person. If he was trying to tease Fadel, he was definitely succeeding. The heat of his breath ghosted over where Fadel was already beginning to harden in his briefs. With his eyes still closed, Fadel felt, more than saw, Style pull the zipper of his jeans down with his teeth. It was tantalizing, a phantom of a touch. Intangible, with the hint of the promise of more. Style moved his hands, finally relenting from teasing Fadel’s chest, to place them on the other man’s knees. “Fadel,” Style called out to him, sweet as a siren and just as tempting. Reluctantly, Fadel found himself reacting to Style’s voice, eyes fluttering open to lock onto Style’s where he knelt between Fadel’s legs. The position had to be uncomfortable. Style was too tall to kneel at the edge of the mattress like that. But something about the way he looked, even with the awkward position, had Fadel’s blood heating, his heart beating faster beneath his ribcage. “Look at me,” The words were like the purring of an engine’s motor, throaty and warm. It matched the sultry look Style sent him, like Fadel was one of his cars that he could tinker with, take apart, and put back together. He now smoothed both of his palms up Fadel’s thighs, leaning forward to press his cheek beside his right hand. His fingers molded themselves around the thickness of the muscle there, as he gazed up at Fadel through his lashes. A burning began to build in the pit of Fadel’s stomach as he felt his cock swelling, responding to the closeness of Style’s mouth. As Fadel watched, Style’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. He turned his head, barely having to move all that much to press a kiss to the bulge in Fadel’s briefs. “Hah,” The forced exhalation wasn’t by choice. It was an instinctual reaction to what Style was doing. Emboldened, Style turned his head fully, having to shift slightly to mold his mouth over the head of Fadel’s dick. Quicker than Fadel expected, Style moved his hands up to press down on his hips, keeping them pinned to the mattress as he continued to suck and lick at Fadel’s cock through his briefs. It was maddening, feeling the wet heat of Style’s tongue so close to where he was sensitive and aching, but not quite touching. Flicking his eyes up to Fadel, Style checked to make sure the other man was still watching him. How the hell could he expect Fadel to look away? That same cocky expression worked its way onto Style’s face. Normally, that look pissed him off. Right now, okay, he had to admit it, it was definitely a turn-on. Style knew it too, judging by the way that he teasingly ran a finger along the edge of Fadel’s boxers, a huff of air escaping his lips in amusement when he felt the muscles there twitch underneath his touch. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of Fadel’s underwear, pulling them down along with Fadel’s jeans. He had to sit back to take them off, Fadel only helping slightly by raising his hips. He moved to kneel back between Fadel’s legs, but Fadel stopped him. “You, too.” Style was used to his clipped sentences. He didn’t need any further clarification on what Fadel meant. Wordlessly, he stood, shucking off his remaining clothes and tossing them somewhere in the room. “Satisfied?” Style asked him impertinently. “Mm,” Fadel responded. He’d get him back for that comment later. For now, he let himself focus on the scene in front of him. It was an image worthy of being remembered. Style, naked, kneeling between his legs. Fadel watched as Style balanced himself on Fadel’s thigh with his right hand and, with his left, he held Fadel’s cock steady. He leaned down, bringing his lips to the tip, his tongue peeking out to lap at the head. Fadel inhaled sharply, moving to cup the back of Style’s head with one palm, feeling the strands of his hair slipping through his fingers like inky silk. Fadel’s grip tightened almost reflexively, driven by the sudden rush of sensation brought on by Style slipping the tip of his cock into his mouth completely. He held it there, lips pulled carefully back to avoid scraping his teeth, not moving, extending the anticipation of what was to come next. Fadel found his mind drifting back to the greenhouses when he’d pushed his fingers into Style’s mouth. The eager way the other man had sucked on them as if they actually were Fadel’s dick. He’d been greedy for it, and messy. He was just as greedy for the real thing. He only teased Fadel for another moment before he went to work on Fadel’s dick. It took him a minute to figure out just how much he could take, but once he did, he went to it like Fadel’s cock was the best he’d ever had. Fuck. He looked so pretty doing it too. All that pale skin on display just for Fadel, mottled with the bruises he’d left. A testament to his success in painting his mark onto Style’s body. His mouth stretched wide around the swell of Fadel’s dick, cheeks flushed and breathing shallowly as he sucked at his mouthful. Fadel could feel the knot in his stomach growing tighter, but he didn’t want to come, not yet. He used his grip on Style’s hair to guide him off his cock. Style made a noise in protest that was quickly swallowed as Fadel hauled him up into a deep kiss. He parted Style’s lips with his tongue, using the hand he’d had in Style’s hair to hold the other man’s chin in place while he mapped out the inside of his mouth. Licking the taste of himself from Style and drinking down all of the whimpers and moans Style made as he did. He rolled them over so that he was on top, his body weight pressing Style into the mattress. Style made a shocked sound, but Fadel barely let him catch his breath before he was wrenching his legs apart and returning the favor, swallowing Style’s dick in one go. It was only his grip on Style’s thighs that kept the other man from throwing him off completely. He let out a strangled cry at Fadel’s actions. Fadel was relentless, though, swallowing around Style’s dick, reveling in the noises he knew he could get Style to make like this. He remembered before they’d even hooked up, how he imagined that Style would make the prettiest noises. He was pleased to know that he was right. He'd heard them back at the greenhouses, but it seemed like here in his own bedroom, Style was even more uninhibited. There was no fear of discovery, no chance of anyone catching them. Maybe that’s why he cried out Fadel’s name so sweetly. Fadel brought him to the brink, and then, slowly, released Style’s cock with a wet ‘pop.’ Sitting back, he surveyed the other man. The corners of Style's eyes were reddened, tears brimming on his lashes, while his chest heaved. Fadel’s gaze was drawn to the gold chain around Style’s neck where it lay askew, an ornament decorating the curve of his collarbone and shoulder. It glinted in the light of the room, drawing Fadel like a moth to a flame, inviting him to trace its shape. He pressed his lips just below where the chain ended, right over a fading bruise. Almost gently, he sank his teeth into Style’s chest, sucking on it until the bruise was as dark as the first time he’d made it. He kissed his way back down Style’s body, much the same way the other man had done to him earlier. He bypassed Style’s cock, choosing instead to press his lips to the reddened skin of Style’s thigh. That dark thing inside of him preened at seeing the clear evidence of his ownership. It was so much easier to admit what he couldn’t say out loud in these moments. He knew, even if they didn’t exactly name it, that this time was different from all the other times they’d been together. Laying back, letting Style take control, it wasn’t like him. He wasn’t a man who conceded easily, and his personality wasn’t one where he let others do what they wanted easily either. The way he touched Style was different, too. There was a tenderness in the caress of his hands as he coaxed the other man’s legs to part further. In the past, he wouldn’t have spent so much time on foreplay. It wasn’t really about anything more than two bodies coming together for a moment of shared pleasure. Fadel could acknowledge, though, that they had crossed the line from simply sharing pleasure to something deeper. Something infinitely more complicated. Strings of fate twining them together in a complicated tangle he wasn’t sure how he’d undo now that they were helplessly wound up in it. But he didn’t want to speak it out loud. He’d said it before. Love wasn’t meant for people like him. Style could say that he’d accept Fadel for who he was, no matter what, but Fadel doubted that things could ever be that simple. Style was naïve and maybe he was too, for getting himself caught up in all of this. Maybe he’d judged his brother too harshly, maybe he was just as desperate. And if this was hell, then Fadel decided maybe he wanted to stay here. He wanted to languish in everything that he shouldn’t have, even if it was just for a little while. Reality would come crashing through the door at some point, but for now, it could wait. He turned his attention to leaving lingering kisses on Style’s thighs. Small strokes of his fingers where the burn and bruise of their previous encounters left Style tender, subdued noises half-whispered, provoked by the little movements. He worked his way higher, into the crease of Style’s body where the curve of his ass met his thigh. He felt Style’s hands settle onto his shoulders. The other man didn’t try to press down or move him, simply letting them rest there. Fadel turned his head, teeth closing on thin skin that broke beneath the pressure. A mark bloomed like a dark blot of ink. Fadel soothed the sting of it with his tongue, feeling tiny pinpricks of pressure as Style reacted to the sensation. Turning his head the other direction, Fadel shifted, bringing both palms under Style’s body, half-cupping the bottom of his ass and splaying over the upper part of his thighs. The angle was slightly off, but it was definitely worth it to feel the way Style quivered and shook as Fadel sucked his balls into his mouth only for a moment before moving away. He tightened his grip on Style as he finally reached where he’d been desperate to get to all along. He was tempted to take what he wanted, to lick his way into Style’s body until he’d drunk his fill, but for some reason, he didn’t. Instead, he lapped at the tight furl of Style’s hole, holding his breath as he listened for Style’s reaction. Almost lazily, Style brought one hand up to card it through Fadel’s hair. He sounded drunk as he murmured. “’s okay. Go ahead, I want you to.” Fadel groaned, unable to resist the pull of his own desire at Style’s words. Now that he’d been given permission, he didn’t hesitate. He redoubled his efforts, coaxing Style's hole open, begging his body to relax and let Fadel inside. Style’s hand tightened in his hair, and, with the other, dug half-moon shapes into Fadel’s shoulder with his nails as he moaned. He widened his legs, pushing back into the tentative touches of Fadel’s tongue that quickly became more targeted as Style's body softened, allowing Fadel to push the tip of his tongue inside. Style cried out loudly when Fadel’s tongue breached him. Fadel let him feel it for a moment and then withdrew, pressing in closer to get his tongue in deeper. He repeated the motion, until he was fully fucking Style’s hole, plunging his tongue in and out as he listened to the breathless, almost painful noises Style made. Fadel continued to suck and lick at Style’s hole, until it was wet and dripping, feeling the muscle clenching around his tongue, signaling that Style was close. Only then did he draw away entirely, panting. He loosened his grip on Style’s lower body, letting his palms come to rest on either side of Style’s head as he laid his full weight down. He buried his face in the hollow cradle between Style’s neck and shoulder, trying to regulate his breathing even as he aligned their hips, feeling their hard cocks rubbing against each other in a way that was both primal and erotic. Style was clinging to him, little hitching sounds that seemed closer to sobs as he tried to get even closer to Fadel. As if they could be any closer than they already were. It was maddening sometimes, how lost to it Style could get. How desperate Fadel could make him. “Where – “ He didn’t even get the full sentence out before Style was reaching out blindly, fumbling to retrieve something from the shelf behind them, practically throwing a handful of packets onto the mattress. Fadel smirked at his eagerness, picking out a packet of lube from the pile. It wasn’t easy to get it open, what with how Style was still clinging to him, but eventually he succeeded. Smearing the viscous liquid over his fingers, he brought them to where Style was already loose and wet. He was easily able to slide two fingers inside, cursing at the tight heat that clung to the digits, thinking about how it would feel around his dick. He stroked his fingers along Style’s sensitive insides, not really fucking the other man. It was more like Fadel was caressing him from the inside, allowing him to experience the weight and fullness, but not doing anything to satisfy what he knew was the urgent need at this point Style had to be fucked. “Don’t tease,” Style gasped. “Ugh – please – Fadel – “ “Is this what you want?” He asked, keeping his tone casual, almost conversational, as he withdrew his fingers and pushed them back inside. He went slow, spreading them apart as he buried them back in Style’s body, letting him feel every inch of the stretch. Style huffed, clearly frustrated. He ground his head into the pillow, fucking back onto Fadel’s fingers, trying to keep them inside, as the other man withdrew them again. “Too slow – just – nnh!- “ He yelped as Fadel roughly re-inserted the digits. As Fadel watched, Style’s face crumpled, his mouth dropping open in pleasure as Fadel switched his pace. Sometimes fucking him slow, sometimes fucking him fast, but never enough to really get him there. Only once he had Style practically begging did he slip his fingers free. He reached for a condom, ripped the packet open, and slid it down his cock. Then, he rolled them over so that Style was on top. Style blinked his eyes open in confusion, staring down at Fadel with a curious expression. “You looked so good like this earlier. Don’t you want to try being in control?” Fadel explained lazily. Style seemed willing to play along, although he still seemed uncertain. Hesitantly, he arranged himself over Fadel, reaching behind him for Fadel’s dick, he guided it to his hole. Fadel brought a hand to Style’s hip, his thumb rubbing circles into the jut of the bone there. “Where’d all that cocky attitude go from earlier, nong?” Fadel continued to tease him. He observed the minute changes in Style’s expression as his uncertainty was quickly replaced with determination. He planted his free hand on Fadel’s chest and lowered himself down. He shot Fadel a look that was akin to the cock-sure expression from earlier. Fadel would be lying if he said that it didn’t have the exact same effect on him. “That good enough for you?” Style asked. The words were belied by how quickly he was breathing as he tried to adjust to the stretch in his hole. Fadel brought his other arm over his head, using it to prop up his head. “I don’t know, nong,” He responded, keeping his voice even despite the arousal once again building in his gut from the tight clench of Style’s heat around his dick. “You haven’t done anything yet.” This time, the look Style gave him was a full-on challenge. As if Fadel had asked him to race and he was determined to win. He lifted up, then took Fadel’s cock completely to the root, grinding his hips in small circles when he bottomed out. Fadel couldn’t be sure which of them was louder when Style’s ass hit his legs. Style threw his head back, bringing both hands behind him now as he balanced himself. “’s so good, Fadel. Fuck, you feel so good.” Shit. Fadel felt himself pulse inside Style, turned on not just by the dirty words but also the image of Style above him like this. That damn chain still hanging around his neck, the only thing the other man wore, glittering tauntingly in the low light of the room. Drawing Fadel’s eyes to every dip and curve of his body as Style bounced on his cock. His Adam’s apple bobbing in time to the rhythm he set, his limbs flexing lithely showing off his strength. Fadel’s imagination was beginning to run a little wild. Not just taking in the sight in front of him but imagining other scenarios where they could test just how much grip strength Style had. It had to be a lot. He was a mechanic after all. They’d never switched their dynamic but suddenly Fadel couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to have Style’s fingers inside of him. What it might feel like to have the calluses that decorated his hands scraping against his walls. The idea of it had him thrusting up the next time Style came down. They both cursed, now completely lost to the wild, frenetic energy between them as they stoked each other’s lust. Style was babbling, but Fadel wasn’t entirely sure what he was saying anymore. It could’ve been anything, and he’d be just as turned on as he was in this moment. The words didn’t necessarily matter so much as the tone. The way Style’s voice had gone raspy and airy, as if he couldn’t quite catch his breath. As if the oxygen in his lungs was running out and the only thing that would save him was the pleasure that he got from fucking Fadel. It was that particular thought that made Fadel wrap both his hands around Style’s waist, holding him firmly in place as he snapped his hips up, chasing his orgasm but determined to get Style there first. With every thrust, the head of his cock ground meanly against Style’s prostate, evoking more of those breathless noises that Fadel knew meant he was close. He’d denied Style’s orgasm so many times tonight and he was tempted to again. To draw this out for as long as possible just so he could go on pretending. But he was unable to resist his own urges, the desperate need to come. Fadel gritted his teeth, forcing the words out as he tried to stave off his own finish. “Touch yourself.” Style was too far gone now to think about arguing. He carefully leaned back with his right hand as he wrapped his left around his throbbing cock, stroking it at the same rapid pace that Fadel was fucking into him from below. Fadel watched, transfixed on the show that was all for him. Every inch of pale, bruised skin on display. The way his face scrunched up, almost as if he were confused, at the same time that Fadel felt him clench impossibly tighter around his dick. “Come on,” Fadel urged. “Fuck, come for me Style.” With one last, drawn-out moan, Style did as he was told. Fadel had a front-row seat to seeing the moment Style’s cock pulsed and then rope after rope of cum shot out of the tip, splattering across both their torsos and smearing over Style’s hand. It was too much. Fadel didn’t want to look away, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from slamming shut as his back arched, pushing in as deep as he could go into Style’s body. He groaned as he came, shooting into the condom. It took another few minutes for them to come down. Both of them exhausted by the intensity of it all. “Shit,” Style breathed, wincing as Fadel carefully slipped out of him. “I don’t think I can walk after that.” Fadel had to agree with him. He wasn’t sure if his knees would support him, but they couldn’t exactly lay in their mess either. “Come on, I’ll clean you up,” Fadel replied, reluctantly peeling himself away from Style to stand up. His knees wobbled but held. He was proud of himself for not giving that fact away as he picked Style up. It went to show how exhausted the other man was that he didn’t protest as Fadel carried him to the bathroom. After cleaning them up, Fadel stripped the bed, rummaging through Style’s wardrobe until he found clean sheets. He did a half-assed job at best but eventually, he succeeded in getting them bother under a blanket, the lights now completely turned off. Style had fallen asleep easily, pillowed on Fadel’s chest and wearing nothing more than his underwear. Fadel had a harder time falling asleep, weighed down by his own thoughts and the echoes of what Style had told him earlier. He knew that he couldn’t keep running away from the proverbial elephant in the room using sex. It was a stop-gap solution at best. Eventually, he had to concede, he would have to figure out whether he really could say the unspoken things out loud. It was that, and the implications it carried, that left him lying awake in the dark for what seemed like too long. Eventually, though he drifted off. He woke in the morning, slightly confused at the weight of something on his hips. He opened his eyes and realized it was Style’s leg. Absently, he ran a hand along the curve of Style’s calf, turning his head to look at the other man sleeping beside him. “Style. Wake up.” “Five more minutes, Pa.” Style responded drowsily. Clearly not altogether with it if he was calling Fadel his dad. Fadel propped himself up on one hand, looking down at Style with an amused expression. “Who are you calling Pa? Wake up.” “I told you last night, didn’t I?” Fadel reproached him, but not harshly. “You should’ve set an alarm.” “I told you to hold back,” Style shot back, still not entirely awake, but awake enough to be annoyed by Fadel’s scolding. “And you didn’t listen to me either. My entire body is sore. I can’t go to work today.” Style stretched dramatically, opening his eyes just enough to glare at Fadel. Fadel would deny it if anyone asked, but he found it kind of cute. He reached out a hand, brushing an eyelash that must’ve fallen on Style’s cheek while he was asleep. “I’m sorry,” Fadel told him, wondering if Style was actually being serious. It was hard to tell sometimes. “I’ll take you to the hospital. All right, get up.” He moved as if to pick Style up, but Style pushed him away, even more annoyed now. “Hey, stop it. What are you doing? I was being overdramatic. I know you’re like a walking block of ice, but you should learn to read between the lines.” Fadel shoved him back down into the mattress. He knelt beside Style, hovering over him. “They say we should hit it right where it hurts. It’s like exercising. That’s how your body builds stronger muscles.” “Thanks for the trivia,” Style responded sarcastically. “But I don’t see why you’re telling me this.” “You need to exercise daily,” Fadel informed him, leaning down to kiss Style softly once, and then again. He pressed his lips to Style’s neck, muffling his next words when he spoke. “I can teach you.” “Hey, Fadel!” Style protested, laughing, as he only half-heartedly tried to move Fadel off him. His actions were belied by the other hand he still had splayed over Fadel’s upper back, keeping Fadel’s weight in place on top of him. Fadel ignored him, reaching up to draw Style into another, deeper kiss. Maybe getting out of bed could wait for a few minutes after all. FIN.