The room was immersed in darkness, but it was not bad, not at all. Sven enjoyed being submerged in darkness, just to hide his condition, hiding the expression on his face. He sighed at a comfortable sigh, his breath was quick, he closed his eyes to hope to better apprehend the situation, to better feel the passion.

He was burning, his body was trembling. But it was a blessing, he liked the gentle shocks that went through his being. He swallowed his spit, plunged his head into the neck of his partner on whom he was sitting. His partner, who was just as silent, but just as horny.

They took the time to move. It was soft, pleasant. Sven could feel the rod moving inside him without feeling any pain. It was not their first time, and his partner showed a tenderness that the blond would not have guessed at first sight.

Right Hand Man, his superior, was one of those people who was quite cold and authoritarian. When he was giving orders, there was no discussion. Either you did what you had to do or you faced the wrath of the chief. Well, 'chief' was not the appropriate term. Rather, 'replacement chief'.

Their previous Chief, Reginald Copperbottom, had been arrested by the authorities several weeks ago. RHM had naturally taken over, and was now working for the good of the clan.

Many weeks he was the new chief, many weeks he and Sven shared some intimate moments, without there being any relationship between them.

There was no declaration, no love at first sight, or even real 'love' behind it. Nothing that justified what they were doing, except the simple desire to touch and be touched, to kiss and be kissed.

RHM pushed him back on the bed, dominated him from all his height, staring at him intense and feverishly, which almost made the poor blond man squeal, as he was completely at his mercy. Sven had few experience in this domain, he let his boss control the debate, dominate him, make him experience his so pleasant sensations.

The elder slipped his hands on the hips of the young submissive, raised his pelvis to better continue his movements back and forth. Sven put a hand on his mouth, biting his fingers, hoping to shut out the soft moaning that escaped from his lips.

He liked this feeling, this feeling that RHM was only looking at himself, even if it was only temporary. He liked to feel it inside him, to feel his movements in his intimacy, just as he liked to feel his fingers running through his body, to feel his mouth kissing him and sucking his skin. He liked to be the center of his attention, to be covered with love and tenderness. He liked, in those moments, to feel that he existed. To feel like he belonged, to be there for someone.

Sven was a Toppat member since a few years ago, had joined the Toppats when he was just about his majority, and stayed loyal to them until today, when he would finally be 26 years old.

He had been so confused in his youth, and he still was. Constantly searching for his marks, his place in this world that seemed far too big, far too imposing for the tiny being that he was.

He felt out of his place. He had never been. From the moment he was born, from the moment he had grown up in a family that was struggling to get up, he had felt out of place. Because it was true, he shouldn't have been there, he had been an unfortunate accident, and that accident had become an additional mouth to feed for his parents.

His parents didn't beat him, no. They weren't one of those horrible people who put all the blame of the world on their child. They had tried, really, to take care of him, to raise him, to love him.

But how can you love something that only makes your life harder?

Sven remembered his mother's looks. The looks of regret. She didn't regret having had a child, she regretted that it had come so early, much too early, when the couple wasn't ready, when both parents were already working themselves to death just to pay the taxes.

Sven had no other memories. Nothing but the loneliness that had enveloped his heart every day in that miserable house, in a cold silence. His parents didn't speak much. They didn't even argue, just glances full of meaning. Always the glances.

Everything passed through the eyes.

Himself had begun to communicate in this way. Simply looking, staring, scrutinizing. To understand the emotions that shined in his blue irises. But not everyone was able to read the eyes.

He didn't keep anything from school. He had many flashes of himself, sitting in class, in his own corner. He was sure he had already played with other children, but nothing memorable enough for him to talk about it years later. He had never linked up with anyone, had only passed between groups of friends, or been alone. He was just...there, not there. People didn't run away from his presence, they didn't beg for it either.

His absence as well as his presence didn't change anything for anyone. This simple observation was painful, heavy to bear. This impression of existing without really doing it, of being there only to add to the burden of his parents and nothing else... He would have liked to be one of those people with a strong personality, with a crazy charisma, who knew what they wanted, where they were going. Or even, he would have liked, in spite of his erased personality, to have an objective, a goal to reach, something that would push him to say to himself "I have to hold on, I have to make an effort, I exist to reach THIS goal".

But he was none of those things. There was no particular passion, nothing that could make him have any kind of click on his life goals. School didn't help, the fact that he was in such a hurry all his schooling on his life choices. "Think hard," they told him. "According to the curriculum there will be no turning back, be careful not to block your options, be careful to go in a branch that offers work, be careful to...".

But he was just a kid and even today, at 26, he was still searching for what he wanted to be, where he belonged. But the hardest thing at the time was not being pressured by the faculty. No, the hardest thing was to see the students around him who knew what they wanted to do, who already had ideas, to see some of them who had set themselves a profession and had planned all the diplomas they had to have, what subjects to take, what courses to take…

Sven had opted for what seemed to him the most judicious at the time: lawyer. His only motivation was his family, the idea that he could finally prove himself useful, the idea that he could have a big salary and, potentially, that he could protect his parents every time this would be sent to trial...

But lying to himself was useless. He was just in high school, but his disinterest in learning had led to a drop in his grades. Despite this, he had fought, fought between teachers tired of their work, fought against his hazardous sleep, fought against his deficiencies due to his poor diet, fought against looks, fought against the ever-increasing pressure...

He hadn't even graduated from high school.

He had been standing in front of the panel for long, long minutes. He had forgotten about the tumult of the crowd, the students who were pushing and shoving to come and read the results, before screaming joyfully or grumbling about passing the rattrapage.

Sven was not even registered for the rattrapage. His mind was trying as hard as it could to assimilate that yes, his name was there, in that dreaded column: " failed ". A simple six-letter word, a simple word printed on paper, and yet his already dark world crumbled around him.

It was the last time anyone saw him. By the time he was reported missing to the police, three days had already passed. All they found was his bag, containing his phone and his ID.

Sven had run away. He had run away from this life, mostly by terror. He was afraid of his parents' looks, the same looks he had received all his life. He feared the remarks, he feared what he was going to become. He had failed in his career before it even began. His only opportunity to be "someone" had been wasted.

He was useless.

However, after eight years, he was a member of the Toppats, in his superior's bedroom, moaning in his arms, feeling as if he was the most precious thing in the world. RHM was delicate, patient. He wasn't someone who only thought about raw sex. He watched out for his sensitive points - although in truth there were too many of them, Sven's body was an erogenous zone all by itself, a simple touch made him feel hot.

Comfortable sighs, wet noises, were furtive but present, accompanying their sweet sex, their desires reaching their culmination. Sven cambered himself, stopping biting his hand to groan louder. He caught the sheets in a convulsion, while the satisfaction of feeling full made him even hotter.

Right growled softly, closed his eyes, stopped moving while he remained deep inside his partner, letting himself be reached by the pleasure, and let the seed fill this warm intimacy.

They let a few minutes pass, none of them moving, each one enjoying the silence that was simply disturbed by their breathing. If RHM, although slightly blushy, managed to keep a minimum of control over himself, it was not the case with Sven who was panting, his eyes semi-closed and humid, his mind completely misty as every time they had sex.

Right bent down, came tenderly to fetch his lips. A kiss that took only a moment, but which pulled the blond man from his torpor, before making him blush completely and hide his embarrassed face behind his arms.

His boss smiled with amusement at this reaction so childish and adorable. He didn't pronounce a word, just gently retreated, always with the idea of not hurting him, of prolonging this moment of tenderness. He lay down beside the youngest, naturally came to surround him with his arms and bring him closer to him, hugging him against his still warm body.

They didn't need to argue. Sven buried his face in his neck, his eyes closed, drowsy now. They just felt good, relaxed ... at his place.

And that was the problem: it wasn't his place.