3rd March 2019
Alex was asleep, his gentle snores filling the apartment, when Milos slid from the bed and padded across the floor towards his tiny kitchenette, wishing yet again that he had at least one radiator. It'd be so simple to buy one, but that meant conceding that this was somewhere permanent, somewhere home and—he glanced over his shoulder at Alex, sprawled on his back and taking up far more than his fair share of the mattress—as much as he hated to admit it, it'd mean he didn't have an excuse to scoot up against him for his heat while he slept.
He pulled a face and lifted a mug down from the cupboard. Coffee had much the same effect without the embarrassing side effect of having to be pressed up against Ever-Ready Alex. Just because he made it feel good—
He cut that thought off before it could grow; sex with Alex was the last thing he wanted to think about right now. He scooped a spoonful of coffee from the jar and dropped it into the mug.
"Come back to bed." Alex's voice made Milos drop the spoon into the mug too, startled. "I want to fuck."
He cast his eyes up to heaven and prayed for strength. "I'm making coffee." He glared up at the cupboard he kept the mugs in and grudgingly added, "you want one?"
"I just told you what I wanted." Alex said in his ear, directly behind him.
Milos almost swallowed his tongue in surprise. "When did you—"
"For someone with ears like this," he gave a none-too-gentle tug on one of Milos's pointed tips, "you're fucking deaf sometimes."
He jerked his head sideways to free his ear from the pinch, trying to ignore the pressure of Alex's already rock-hard cock against his backside and the way his hands slid around his waist, roaming over his hips and down to his penis which, despite being previously happy to behave itself, now seemed traitorously inclined to respond to the other man's touch. "Go back to bed."
"Why should I, when you're here and not there?" Amusement was evident in his voice. His body heat spread across Milos's back as he pressed more closely to the alfa, right hand encircling Milos's cock and lazily stroking.
Swallowing again, he picked the spoon back up and stared at it like holding it would ward Alex away. It'd have to be black coffee, white would mean moving to the fridge to get milk. Moving seemed like a good idea. His legs didn't agree.
Alex rested his chin on Milos's shoulder; he could feel his smile against his neck. "Anyway, something tells me that no matter what your mouth says, your body agrees with me."
"That," he said bitterly, looking down at his half-hard erection, "would be fine if you weren't here."
"Then it's a good thing I am, isn't it?" He squeezed his hip with his left hand and slid his own erection up between Milos's buttocks, letting out a soft sigh that tickled his skin. "Spit, lube, or I can get something from the fridge."
Something from the...? Really? Milos shook his head, trying to ignore both the memories of his past life and the distracting sensations Alex's hand was causing. "Lube."
His skin turned icy as Alex moved away and Milos found himself suddenly, perversely, missing the warmth he took with him. Not just that either; he looked down again and found himself sighing. Why couldn't Alex just be like everyone else and be only interested in his own gratification, just like his one night stands at the bar insisted he was? There was something particularly cruel about inflicting pleasure on him when he didn't know what to do with it.
A foot smacked into his instep at the same time as a slick, hot-cold dick nudged his backside; he obediently parted his legs, gripping the edge of the work surface as he felt Alex settle his feet beside his own. Then the slippery head moved from only nudging to pressing into him and he felt his breath catch in his throat. It was too fast for comfort, still raw from last night, and he gripped the countertop harder, dropping his head with a wince and a gasp.
Both of which Alex ignored, of course. So did Milos once Alex was deeply seated inside him, his hands settled on Milos's narrow hips, his breath hot over the back of his neck and his body blazing against his skin.
This shouldn't feel good. It had no right to. At least he paused long enough for Milos to accustom himself to the full feeling before he sank his fingers more firmly into the dokkalfa's skin and started to move, and Milos found himself letting out a second gasp that, this time, had nothing to do with pain.
He edged his feet apart, spreading his legs further to allow Alex better access, and leaned further forwards—only to yelp as fingers tangled into his hair and jerked him back upright. "Where do you think you're going?"
"I can't do this if you do that." Before Milos could try to speak again Alex's left hand moved to press against his stomach; the right resumed its hold of his erection, the gestures this time erratic and not quite in time with the movement of his hips.
Milos wasn't going to object. Instead he closed his eyes and focused on the feelings, listening to his gasps turn to moans like they were coming from someone else, clinging to the work surface; he was going to be so sore, thank god it was Sunday. Alex's left arm wrapped around his chest, holding him hard against him as he pounded with enough force to make the alfa's knees buckle, enough to leave him breathless, just hard enough to push him over the edge—
He came over Alex's hand, stomach muscles clenching, mouth open with barely a sound coming out so he could hear the slap of skin on skin and the faint spatter of semen on worn tiles.
Alex didn't last long after that, his own guttural grunts muffled by pressing his nose against Milos's shoulder blade, both arms now wrapped firmly around him as the hard, rough thrusts turned into long slow strokes and he moaned out his orgasm over Milos's burning skin.
They stood there for a minute or so longer, immobile, held together by sweat and Alex's arms and softening cock, their chests heaving together but not quite in unison, before the human slowly relinquished his hold on Milos and withdrew. Cold air tickled his back.
For one moment he didn't think he'd be able to prise his fingers from the worktop; the thought that Alex would get to the bathroom before him did a lot to help. He staggered towards the door before Alex could move, relieved that for once he could clean up first and not have to wait impatiently for the other man to saunter back into the room, smirking in a way that told Milos he knew exactly how much it irritated him.
He re-emerged a few minutes later, feeling much fresher if still not quite able to walk properly, to come face to face with Alex, clean but still naked, leaning back against the work surface and sipping from a steaming mug of... He stared, open-mouthed.
Alex shrugged and took another sip. "What? You didn't seem interested in drinking it any more."
"You said you weren't thirsty!"
"I said nothing of the sort." He swallowed a further pointed mouthful and treated Milos to a stunning smile.
"...I hate you."
YOU ARE READING
Milos has been a lot of things: homeless, abused, a rent boy. He'd thought he'd found a home, but now he can add another title to the list: government genetic experiment. He should hate it. His irritatingly handsome partner is a lecherous psychopath...