Suck 'Em Dry

Bound.

"Tyler! Ugh, yes!" he yelled.

The sound of his voice reverberated through the entirety of their mansion, accompanied by the sultry slapping of skin against skin.
His bottom was surely beet red by now; considering it was the third time they were getting it on in the last forty minutes. They had switched from Tyler's bed to his. And now, he was bent over his own desk, the piece of furniture shaking with each of the forceful movements.

"C'mon! I know you can do it harder than that!"

"Any harder and I'll break the desk."

"Then break it!"

Tyler let out a frustrated grunt and ploughed into him aggressively. Both of them were incredibly close to completion, blinded by the full force of physical pleasures. Really, they were fücking like two animals. There was nothing romantic in these acts of insane lewdness. Neither of them cared about the consequences of their sinful antics. After all, they had done this countless times before (and had broken just as many pieces of furniture in the process).

Still, what they were engaging in was nothing more and nothing less than platonic sex; a way to release tension and frustration in the way they liked the most. There was nothing Troye found particularly desirable about the other man, except for his body of course.
This friendship worked out just fine for them, so there was no reason for them to change their dynamics whatsoever. It was just a lot simpler this way.

A loud crack echoed from the walls of Troye's room, and suddenly he found himself with nothing supporting his upper body. He was held up merely by Tyler's strong grip on his hips.
His orgasm was approaching quickly, quivering and moaning like a whore. And there was nothing holding him back, so he just let go and let his cúm spurt onto the pile of wood before him. Tyler followed closely behind, released inside of him and pulled out.
Both of them stared down at the destroyed mahogany wood on the floor.

"What a shame," Tyler sighed, "I actually liked that one. It really suited your room."

Troye shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I'll buy a new one."

He rushed over to his bed in lightning speed and crashed into it, rolling over when his friend joined him. Then he flung the duvet over their naked bodies and nuzzled into the coolness of the freshly made bed. Their maid, Eleanor, had left just an hour before Troye arrived home and basically attacked Tyler.
A content hum rang from his throat as he ran his hand through the other man's soft hair. He could've fallen into a comatose sleep right then and there, but there was still this nagging feeling in the back of his head.
So he looked at Tyler with a devious smirk. He let his hand trail lazily down the man's toned abdomen and asked: "Next round?"

He hated being rejected, so you can probably imagine his frown when Tyler shook his head and answered with a very blunt "No.".
"What has gotten into you, Troye?," he asked. "Usually you're fine after two rounds, and just one after feeding. You know I can still smell the human, right?"

He opened and closed his mouth again, not quite sure how to react to his friend questioning his motives. He fell back into the bedding with a scowl and closed his eyes.
Quick jolts of dull pain erupted from his chest every now and then. But Troye couldn't tell why.

Well, actually he could. But he didn't want to admit that something so disturbingly horrifying was happening to him.

Green Eyes.

He always thought it was a legend, purely created to keep his kind striving for something, anything during their existence. And when it had happened to Tyler, he'd told the elder that he was plainly over-exaggerating. He doubted that his kind was able to feel such strong emotions, let alone for creatures as simple as humans, so it must have been something primitive.
Maybe, it was just a way to kill time, or possibly the sad longing for purpose through something that seemed like the always lonely, repetitive existence of an immortal being.