Those bodies coiled together beneath the veil of covers, moonlight washing nude forms in soft light. Mouths nipped at flesh. Palms devoured skin, Saliva was exchanged.
"Oh…Toris."
The Lithuanian's tongue lapped at his partner's chest, capturing those buds and savoring them as sweetened candy. They became taunt, and those mounds spread in pleasure. Feliks' digits searched through that nest of oaked tresses.
"Hmm…" The blond moaned as those teeth secured one of those nipples and tugged. Oh, Toris knew just what that faux princess loved.
Already, he was incredibly hard.
Another shameless cry. His poor hands were mercilessly gripping the sheets.
Toris kissed the opposite's stomach. His belly button. His thighs.
"Oh, darling, please…"
That mouth engulfed the head of the Polish man's member, sucking upon it gently, pulling at the shaft with a hungry set of fingers. Toris' head dipped lower.
It was difficult to imagine her at times such as this. With another man's cock between his lips. And she was coming. Miss Elizaveta was arriving in merely two days.
The Lithuanian closed his eyes.
"Ah-! Toris…"
Please stop speaking. Please.
That working man drew a little harder upon that swelling organ.
Yes…Elizaveta would be here soon. They had sent her letters, which she answered promptly, and this gorgeous and open day burst into the sun's favor.
It was as waiting for a grand holiday, that one shining morning that only came once every three hundred and sixty-five days. Awaiting Elizaveta was awaiting the sun after an entire month of sour rain. That anticipation was enough to slaughter the desperate man.
Now, here he was. Having sex with Feliks. Wishing to make love with Elizaveta just after punching that goddamn Roderich in the mouth.
Oh, he was well aware that the Austrian did not like him. Without a single word to the aristocrat's ear, Toris had made himself something of a bitter enemy.
What did that man know?
"Ah-!" A horrid gasp. "Toris…"
That bottle of oil was handed to the one between those pallid legs, the same bottle of oil that always rested upon their pillow just at this moment. The same bottle that always seemed to be used.
Then, so softly, he touched those tips to the Polish man's opening, either managing an easy entrance. The victim, that hapless and trapped man, screamed in ecstasy.
Goodness that creature was noisy. Always so noisy.
Fingers began to scissor, preparing that howling thing.
Toris often questioned how good his sex felt. Was this odd man simply so incredibly sensitive? Had the other learned all the nooks and crannies his body supplied? Did he know subconsciously where all these little nerve endings were? Did he push at them as the strings of an instrument, strumming, allotting those tips a sort of horrendous dance?
It seemed so incredibly mangled that anything could be so enjoyable.
And just then, the blond took his release, that essence spilling inside the brunette's mouth and all about those unprotected fingers. That seed was swallowed. It had nowhere else to travel to.
Formerly clean flesh was wiped about the cloth mess surrounding them.
"I'm sorry. That was wonderful, love." Feliks was breathing hard. "Do you still want me?"
"Of course. Do you still want me to have you?"
"Yes, darling. I do." A slight moan. "Are you ready?"
A solitary nod. And those legs engulfed the other's torso. A bit of lubrication was applied to Toris' member, and slowly, he sank in.
Moan. Moans upon either side of hat falling wall.
Needy palms ate the other's waist, a grip to the back if the blond man's thigh. A leg raised into the air. Hips worked. Jaws dropped.
The atmosphere became over inhabited with Feliks' noise, those yells growing something wild. Grips turned to claws, those movements needier.
A whine.
Toris welded those sights shut.
It had been a while.
With a woman.
So long, the Lithuanian was uncertain what exactly the difference was. Times came when he nearly despised himself for taking any amount of pleasure from another man's anatomy. That blond thing. That blond thing with his blond moans. That blond thin with his blond moans and his bleach blond personality.
So goddamn blond.
"Aaah…" Toris bit down upon his lower lip, stifling what noise he allowed free.
"Oh, god-!" Gasp. "Please, harder."
With a touch of bile, that command was followed. And the little bird sang. The. Little. Blond. Bird.
"Ah!"
Oh goodness. Those poor sheets. Those poor mangled sheets.
They tore them into pieces.
Toris began to pound harder, grasping at those hips, stealing what skin he could possibly get a hold on. He drank of the other's body. Taking in all of that sour shame and all the horrid euphoria that went along with it.
The embarrassment was erased with thoughts of the Hungarian gem. That slender waist, those lovely hips. That grand mess of gorgeous and curling ringlets. How he desired to run those starving hands though those wondrous tresses. To touch those happy thighs. To taste every square inch of her.
The kiss she had granted him was simply not enough. It was the scent to the long awaited meal. The stupid tease that was meant to drive any man insane.
How much of her had Roderich experienced?
Those hips bucked even harder.
"Ah-! Darling…"
Toris had not made soft lobe in a while.
Hell. He had not made love in a while.
How monotonous this life was, caught beneath the Polish man; catching the Polish man beneath his own weight. Owning every blond drop of him. Every drop he did not desire.
Then the orgasm came.
"Aah!" And those forms came into an embrace, so the immigrant would not have to witness the look upon his lover's visage. Their chests pressed together, raw flesh kissing. Sore sports slamming.
Feliks' sweet hands held Toris' back. "Mmm. My love. You've been so passionate lately."
Lips sunk into one another for the mere purpose of quieting the beast. Tongues wrestled. Then they fell apart, and corpses were separate.
Feliks got up from their ruined nest, to clean. That sullied night gown ate his body as a poor cover to a beaten table. And it was his fault.
"…Did I hurt you?"
"Oh? No, sweetheart. That felt good."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes, love. I'm alright." That mess of hair was adjusted. "You've been a bit strange lately. Is everything normal? Are you happy because Elizaveta is coming to visit?"
"Yes…" An exhausted sigh. "Yes. I am happy. Taking time off to see her is always refreshing. I like how I no longer need to work. And she is nice to be around."
"That she is." A small simpler. "I'm glad you're becoming companions with her. I was so worried about you. You seemed to be so sad, but mixing up this life can do us both some good."
"Yes." the poor man was going to sleep.
The sour sun glowing. "I'll leave you be, darling. Sweet dreams."
But it was far too late. He was already asleep.
Feliks left the dead man alone.
And the dead man drifted into the Goddess' arms, where he felt he belonged.
The insufferable and fair haired one returned, to wrap himself around that drunken entity, induced by all his dreams and shimmering promises.
Enticed by her arrival.