Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Phainon strays from his usual route on the way to class.

Or, rather, he follows his new route, because he cannot recall the last time he's actually adhered to his old path.

Like clockwork, his feet lead him to what has become an embarrassingly familiar sight. A welcome mat meeting his shoes with a potted plant to the left and an overhead sign stretched above his head. Faced with an oak French door providing a gateway to a world unbeknownst to him, he swings it open with an overbearing smile.

It's warm, in more ways than one. Strung around the paneled walls are fairy lights, not at all doing much of anything but still homely in their glow. Before, the aroma of freshly baked bread and toasted flour would have been the first thing to seize his attention, but he's been here long enough to know what he's really after.

He doesn't mean to sound so eager when he says it. “Good morning! ”

It's fine, though, because soon, a gorgeous man with blonde hair graces Phainon's existence and regards him with a perpetual scowl. He emerges from behind the display stand and crosses his arms, flexing his biceps as he does so and tilting his head in a manner that Phainon could only describe as absolutely lethal. He slides to his register with the elegance of a noble and nods in acknowledgment.

“Morning,” the man says, brief and curt and captivating with that unfairly deep voice. He's already punching a string of buttons into his touchscreen. “The usual?”

Phainon allows himself the privilege of ogling at him before making his way to the counter. He addresses the man with all the optimism he can muster at 8:00 a.m. on a Tuesday. “You know me so well.”

The worst part is that Phainon can't say the same for him. The only information he knows about this enigma of a beauty is that, one, he's been spotted around campus sometimes, and two, his name was De, according to his employee tag. That, and the fact that he's been the only thing capable of getting Phainon rock hard during those not-so-proud nights where his resolve slips between his fingers. 

And as much as Phainon would love to acquaint himself with all the D's of this man, he highly doubts that's his actual name. Regardless, it's the closest thing he can get to any semblance of familiarity, and he's above prowling on the internet just for a guy who happens to take his order every morning, so he accepts it as the truth. For now.

After leaving a concerningly generous tip, Phainon absently sips his latte adjacent to a window overlooking the street. No matter the context, he orders the same thing every morning and is sure to sit at the same table every time. He knows he’s idling for no real reason. There's a common area with a coffee machine located on the bottom floor of his dormitory, and it's not like the caffeine would be any better here as opposed to someplace else. But he tells himself he needs an excuse to see those same golden eyes to start his day, so he does.

Phainon loses himself in his thoughts.

═════

The first time he'd seen the bakery was a brief encounter. It simply caught his attention while mindlessly scrolling on his phone.

He paid no attention to it until Tribios brought it up the next day.

“Snowy,” she sang, bubbly as ever and, astoundingly, the only person Phainon knew that genuinely surpassed his vitality. “Have you visited this bakery yet? It looks super cute!”

She shoves her phone in his face with none of the liveliness appropriate to this hour, and it takes a while before his eyes light up in recognition. There, he sees the same post he'd seen a day prior; a serving tray lined with various unknown pastries, most likely donning names too fancy for Phainon to know.

“Are you interested?” he asks.

“Duh! I wouldn't have brought it up if I didn't want you to come with me.” She puts a hand on their hip in an all-knowing way, beaming. “In fact, I happen to know one of the employees there.”

“Oh?” Phainon quirks an eyebrow, amused. “A friend? Perhaps you can ask for a discount.”

When they entered the building together, he wasn’t expecting it to be so… Tribios-esque. Of course she would have taken an interest in something like this.

He hadn’t minded. The atmosphere was lively, and the ambiance welcomed him with gentle arms. He knew better than anyone that he was far from aesthetically inclined—in denial, maybe—but the interior seemed chic enough if it managed to magnetize this many people.

His eyes catch a glimpse of one of the many dessert stands, and he comments with mirth, “Wow, seems like they're really pushing the cat motif, huh?”

Tribios agrees from his side. “Why do you think they're so popular? I almost don't want to buy anything!”

It was supposed to be a one-time thing. Grab something to eat, take a few pictures of Tribios and whatever sugar-laden monstrosity that she had purchased, and be on with his day. For the sake of his own peace of mind, he tended to refrain from setting high standards, but he was still expecting a good time. 

What he hadn't expected was for the person serving them to be, quite possibly, the most jaw-dropping human he had ever laid his eyes upon. He wasn't expecting to be met with a man whose physique rivaled bygone carvings, and he certainly wasn't expecting that resonant voice belonging to an establishment like this. Wasn’t expecting honey-blonde hair dipped in scarlet to fall past broad shoulders, and that apron—that wretched apron—would be the very thing that'd plague Phainon's fantasies for weeks to come.

“Helloooo? Earth to Snowy? What do you want?”

To the left, he notices a segment of the man's hair plaited in a braid, secured with a red tie matching that same shade of scarlet. On the right, he sees a hairclip, shaped like a fucking apple, and, shit, is it the sweetest thing that Phainon has ever seen on a guy with muscles parallel to those warriors from ancient-something, or whatever it was. It doesn't matter. He's too busy staring at the way his apron winds around the tiniest waist, accentuating all the parts of a figure that could kill a man. Phainon was no exception.

“Uh, same thing as you?”

Tribios seems genuinely surprised by this, but she doesn’t push it, to Phainon's relief. 

“Okay, if that's what you want.”

And then the man is turning to him, those feline eyes directed towards Phainon and Phainon only. His face is rigid and sharp in every way, but Phainon thinks it'd be soft under his touch. He thinks about how his hair would feel like fine silk beneath his fingers, or how the soft planes of his chest would rise with each inhale, or, maybe, how his breathing would grow ragged underneath—

“Excuse me,” the employee says, gruff but not unkind. “But are you sure you want the same thing as… her?”

═════

He never claimed he was a virtuous man.

Upright, maybe, but he, too, occasionally fell to the whims of his impulses. To anybody who played a role in Phainon's life, it wasn't a secret—head first and never one to think before leaping. Even as he reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, fingertips gliding over the definition of his abdomen, he thought of nothing but one individual.

His penis aches when it touches the air, humid around his body heat and leaking a profuse amount of precome. He groans when he squeezes himself by the base, dragging the channel of palm to the head and desperately wishing his hand belonged to someone else, someone in mind.

It’s hot, too hot, and his skin swelters as he struggles to keep up with his brain, a sheen of sweat layering his temple. In a fleeting moment of haze, he wonders if De's body is as hot as his was right now. He wonders if he really was as warm, or as soft, as he looked. The mere thought of it has him spinning, another moan from his lips.

“Fuuuck,” Phainon whines, because it's all he can do under the mercy of De's there-but-not-there presence. He rolls his wrist, strokes faster, rougher, to the visage of the blonde man. Phainon imagines what kind of person he'd be in bed, or if he'd look at the scene before him and turn away in disgust. The possibility of De whirling insults at his depravity only turns him on even more.

In a matter of seconds, his little moment of haze becomes much more than just a moment. He presses his thumb hard against the crown of his head, slicking his hand to the vision of De's tongue dragging against his length, up, down, before enveloping his lips around Phainon's girth. He'd probably scratch his teeth against the skin, whether it be due to his probable inexperience or turbulent nature—either way, Phainon wouldn't care. 

But in the back of his mind, a small inkling proposes the idea that perhaps De wasn't inexperienced. The possibility of him having another man's dick in his mouth, or worse, him having a partner, planted an irrational weight on his chest; he would’ve gone soft at the notion if he wasn't already close to his peak.

He doesn't have the right to dictate a complete stranger’s personal life, he knows that, yet it doesn't stop him from fantasizing about sliding himself between those ridiculous pecs, his tip brushing against plush lips every time he'd push forward. He has yet to learn the man’s name, for Kephale’s sake, and he's growing incredibly frustrated at the purely theoretical prospect of De being taken. Leave it to Phainon to somehow find a way to be upset about something he'd made up on his own.

While they've talked a few times, he doesn’t consider it enough to completely eradicate the line between consumer and server. He thinks back to one of their few exchanges amidst his fogged lust.

It's the afternoon, a rare occurrence and a genuine deviation from the unwritten schedule Phainon lived by. He still wants to show up to compensate for his absence that morning, so when the mellow chime of a bell signified his arrival, De looked at him with something akin to relief. He'd been leaning against the counter, elbows rested and palm cradling his chin, until Phainon welcomed himself inside. 

He engraved De’s face that day into his memory. How his eyes widened the tiniest bit before assuming his stoic appearance, how he immediately straightened his back once he'd caught sight of tousled, silver hair.

“You're here,” De had said. It came out quieter than the usual bass of his voice, round around the edges and all candy-like. 

“Yeah,” Phainon laughed. “I'm here.”

De, with his mystery and aloofness, vanishes from the register. Phainon hears him over the hissing of a steamer, “Do you still want your drink?”

And he thought about it. He looked around, noticed there were a lot less people. Nobody behind him, nobody to witness his blatant pining. He remembers how the gears in his head shifted that moment, the urge to step outside the metaphorical circle he’d been trapped in.

“Don't need it anymore,” he’d responded, not missing the way De stops in his tracks. “Besides, I'm at a bakery, aren't I?”

The blonde turned around, eyeing him. “No, really?” Nonetheless, the faint curiosity in the glint of his eyes gave him away, and he stepped forward. “What do you want, then?”

You, Phainon thinks to himself, and the thought leaves as quickly as it arrived.

“What's good here?”

Surprisingly, De took the question to heart, hesitating in a rare display of vulnerability like it had been a particularly serious question. Phainon still thinks about his response a lot, how cute he looked with the concentrated contours of his face. 

His hand moves quicker.

“...You can try our cinnamon bread,” he finally answered, before: “A bit sweet, though.”

Phainon twinkled. “As sweet as you?”

The non-existent chemistry in the room had probably gotten to him. For whatever reason, some mischievous force possessed him to utter the corniest sentence imaginable, and he was clearly too slow to stop his running mouth from hitting a brick wall.

But, his De, terrifyingly athletic yet endearing De, laughed. He laughed, and laughed, until his gaze completely softened, a tiny grin left in the wake of his amusement. It was Phainon's first and only time hearing such a melodious sound, and damn, what a sound it was, and how stupid was he to not actively seek it sooner. Incredibly foreign yet so right, like his ears had always meant to be recipients of De's joy.

The smarter, more rational part of his brain urges him to stop there, to stop thinking about something that doesn’t exist in the same world he does, someone who does not live on the same wavelength as he. 

The other part of him thinks about De around his cock.

His hips stutter, buckling into the warmth of his grip, the wetness amplifying in sound and his thoughts louder in the misty space of his memories. He thinks about De’s heat, his pretty hair and the swell of his chest, but what drives Phainon to his demise is his smile, the dream of it belonging to him one day.

Phainon muffles a cry with the bite of his other hand, soiling his chest and fingers with the result of his yearning. He draws blood from his skin, the distinct flavor of rust permeating the roof of his mouth when he pulls away.

His arm lays limp on his chest, and the overwhelming guilt makes itself known almost immediately. He groans again, no longer out of pleasure but sheer mortification, and he knows he’ll definitely do it again in the future anyway, which makes it all the more terrifying. He nearly loses his balance like a newborn lamb when he gets to his feet, trudging to the bathroom with the essence of a ghost.

He stares at his reflection and finds it to be a man unknown to him.

═════

Phainon spends an awfully long time staring at the ceiling before reaching for his nightstand. The dimmed light of his phone illuminates a small corner in his room, and he opens a familiar contact with a certain red-haired companion. The idea has been lodged in his mind for too long, so he doesn’t grant himself the time of hesitation.

He’s somewhat hoping that she doesn't pick up, given that she’s a far busier person than he was and constantly running around the city at any moment, but this problem has begun to breach the partitions of his mind, dancing around his thoughts like an incessant parasite and slotting itself wherever it inconvenienced him most. 

His phone rings until it’s cut by an overjoyed greeting. “Hey! What’s got you up so late?”

Phainon swallows around the anxiety wedged in his throat. 

“Hi, Tribbie. Are you free for a quick chat?”

There’s a beat of silence on the other side before the voice returns. “Always. Something the matter?”

“No. Just wanted to ask you something.” He fidgets with the hem of his sleeve, his retinas strained under the blue light as he cranks up the brightness. He pulls up a photo. “Do you remember the day we visited Marmoreal Bakery?”

Phainon stares at the enlarged photo of Tribios holding a plate to her face, her smile as sweet as the kitty-shaped éclair next to it.

He thinks he can hear shifting from her end. “Yeah, why?”

His heart beats uncomfortably loud as he traces his tongue along the exteriors of his teeth, palms clammy and charged with nerves. “Remember how you told me you knew one of their employees there?”

Tribios hums, “You mean De?” There’s a suspiciously long bout of silence before she follows up her question. “What about him?”

Phainon releases an exhale he hadn’t even realized he was holding. Thank the stars for her perceptive nature; he didn’t feel like explaining anything. “I was wondering how you knew him.”

The answer is immediate. “Oh! I used to tutor him. Still do, actually.”

Phainon nods to nobody in particular. He probably should’ve expected that, considering that his own interactions with the woman aren’t any different, though he thinks he moved far past the mentee status once he’d entered close friend territory.

“Makes sense.” It’s his turn to pause, now. “Is his name actually De?”

Tribios laughs into her speaker, “No, silly. That’s just a nickname.” But then the music of her delight is abruptly interrupted in such a way that Phainon would’ve thought she was hit by a truck, had he not possessed a few more brain cells. There’s hushed murmuring, and he feels as if he’s intruding on his own phone call. She says nothing else save for, “It’s Mydeimos.”

His heart betrays him shamefully fast. Only one word, and he’s been left with nothing but his tiresome feelings and a brain rotten with sugar. He considers writing it down, but the name is lost to his fuzzy head. He really shouldn’t have jacked off earlier.

“Oh,” he, at last, responds, and he sounds like an idiot when it exits his mouth. “Nice.”

It only gets worse when Tribios goes radio silent. He doesn’t know if she had miraculously managed to lose connection during the worst time, or if she was simply too stunned by Phainon’s random ass interrogation that she lost the will to keep going. Phainon is an obstinate man, however, and he’s not at all disheartened by her somewhat vague feedback. Especially not when the next thing she says flips his world upside down.

“Would you like to see him?”

He shoots up immediately, clutching his phone with such unbridled strength that it surprises even him. His voice drops to a breathless, “Seriously? ” He attempts to reel back in what little dignity remained in his body. “Hold on, this is really sudden. I don’t wanna give you any more trouble.”

“It’s no trouble! It’s not like he’s far away right now.”

“Wha—” Phainon furrows his eyebrows, leaning forward. “Does he live on campus or something?”

“No. He’s sitting next to me.”

═════

“Why did you mention my name? Who is it?”

Tribios waves her hand dismissively. “You’re fine. It’s just a friend.”

“Who? Who wants to know about me?”

“Don’t worry, nobody wants to pick a fight with you. And I'm sure he’s the last person who would do so!”

Mydei bristles. “He?”

“You two,” Castorice hushes, a finger to her lips. “People are looking our way.”

“...I used to tutor him. Still do, actually—”

“Who is it?”

“...just a nickname—”

“Enough! Tell me.”

Chapter Text

Against all odds, Phainon does not end up taking Tribios’ offer.

It pains him, but even he has morals—he’s just not the best at enforcing them. He’d rather this silly crush go nowhere than foster something entirely unnatural, despite Tribios being the very reason why he’s aware of Mydeimos’ existence. He knows his line of logic doesn’t align with most people, but how strange would it be if he'd forcefully inserted himself into the man's life without his knowledge? 

It’s not as if he wasn't getting off to the image of Mydeimos just the night before, so he supposes there's really no need to fret over boundaries at this point.

And it’s probably the reason why he’s able to walk to the bakery without shame, instead replaced with a staggering amount of bliss, blinding in his radiant joy like the ever blazing sun. He’s not thinking; when is he ever, when he enters the bakery and is met once more with the fragrant note of vanilla.

Mydeimos opts for a look of skepticism rather than his usual contempt. “It's a little early to be so cheerful, don't you think?”

Phainon smiles like he'd never before. “Well, excuse me for being in good spirits.” Reminded of a bygone memory, he adds, “It wouldn't hurt for you to do the same.” And, only to protect himself, “But there's nothing wrong with the way you are right now!”

Mydeimos grumbles, stalking away with a coffee cup in hand. Phainon notices that his hair is down today, splayed over the expanse of his upper build. Faintly, the cup crinkles to the aggravated grasp of the man, death grip and all. Phainon wishes he were that cup.

It’s nice, being able to attach a name to this mysterious individual. He wouldn't go so far as to say that it was intimate, but it'd certainly be nice if that were the case. He entertains the thought that anything could be nice as long as it involved Mydeimos.

Speaking of Mydeimos, he appears before Phainon. “Your coffee is ready.”

It's not normally this troublesome for Phainon to come up with a response. Say thank you, take the cup, and be on with it. He's forever thankful for Tribios’ help, but he ought to have more restraint. Now that he knows Mydeimos’ name, he wants to say more, prolong this little back-and-forth until he's forced to tend to another customer. Does Mydeimos look at other patrons the way he looks at Phainon—with sarcasm, disdain, and, would he be so bold as to say, fondness? He can't imagine it'd be good for business, to have one of their only employees address you with such informality.

“Thank you,” he says. Abruptly, an idea takes shape in his mind, short-lived but there nevertheless. He does not pause for very long, lest the air around them be charged with awkwardness, so after a quick moment, he decides to punctuate his sentence with a hesitant, “...De.”

Verbalizing his name could not ever compare to thinking it. It doesn't sound natural exiting his mouth, but it feels right . The apprehension rushes to his head, ready to gauge Mydeimos’ reaction the moment it arrives.

As expected, something alike to shock flashes over Mydeimos’ expression at the utterance of his employee name. Much like Phainon, he chooses not to acknowledge it, but Phainon swears he sees more beyond his stoic exterior.

He can try again next time.

═════

It's only been around a few weeks since he'd started referring to Mydeimos by name. At least, the name he presented himself as.

Phainon did not hear nor see any objection. If anything, Mydeimos seemed a little pleased by this small development, but it was always a little difficult to truly discern what was going on in that head of his. There were numerous lines that Phainon could not cross under any circumstances, and it eased him knowing this wasn't one of them.

“Hi, De!” 

Mydeimos looks up from where he's stationed at the counter, nodding. The bakery seems to be a little empty today.

“Hello, Phainon.”

The first time, Phainon hadn't expected Mydeimos to return his sentiment with indifference. Where Phainon acted, Mydeimos would respond in turn, and he'd also begun to address Phainon directly, to his immense satisfaction. It wasn't a secret that the man had always known his name—before he stopped, he’d been writing it on his daily coffee for months, after all, but hearing it for the first time, slipping off his tongue like he'd voiced it a million times before, had planted a few too many scandalous thoughts into Phainon's head. Now, he views it with familiarity.

Although it comes as no surprise when those thoughts mature into something much more inconvenient, so much so that he becomes restless. He's already made the first step, why not another? 

Nestled in the corners of his brain, rationality tells Phainon that he should probably stop there, just like the time he had called Tribios, or the many other instances where he'd be swept away by his carnality. But Mydeimos does not seem like the type to ignore his discomfort in favor of appeasement, with the way he does not hesitate to declare his aggravation. Phainon is sure that, should this unnamed dynamic of theirs have no future, Mydeimos will be the one to tell him.

He's invigorated with an uncharacteristic sort of assurance when he proposes the question.

They follow their usual routine: greet one another, exchange a few pleasantries, and Mydeimos is off to prepare Phainon's order. Except, as he returns, Phainon speaks up before the other man can even do so much as to hand him his cup.

With the essence of someone who lacks the ability to think before speaking, Phainon blurts out, “Can I call you Mydeimos?”

The man in question freezes. He stares at Phainon, eyes the widest he'd seen up until this point and mouth slightly agape. His eyebrows are shot into his bangs and he stiffens like a stray cat, brimming with tension. He doesn't say anything, simply holds Phainon's coffee with deafening silence, nodding in an exceptionally slow manner.

Yeah, he probably shouldn't have said that.

Phainon waits patiently with a strained smile. There's no room for regret now, but he'd be fooling nobody if he said it wasn't just a little bit awkward. Both of them would be saved if he were to make a run for it right then and there, but he has the dignity to finish what he started. 

Gradually, Mydeimos’ face transitions into one of questioning. 

He's the first to break the silence. “...You don't need to call me that. Just Mydei is fine.”

Phainon blinks. 

“Okay, sure. I can do that.”

Mydeimos—no, Mydei, continues to stare at him, this time less shock and more of something new altogether. He clearly wants to say something.

A few seconds later, he does just that: “How do you know my name?”

It’s a normal question, bearing in mind the situation. Immediately, Phainon responds, “A mutual friend of ours told me. I… think you’re aware?” Then, he begins to wave his hands defensively, worry evident in the crease of his eyebrows. “I'd never go looking for it, I swear!”

Mydei nods again, albeit hesitantly, like he didn't know if he should have been. He stands there for another good few seconds, until his head perks up in realization and his face darkens in an instant. Phainon would have been terrified out of his mind if it weren't insanely hot.

“It was you.”

Phainon awakens from his thoughts. “It was me?”

“From—” Mydei cuts himself off, shaking his head. His demeanor borders between annoyance and fluster, the outer shell of his ear a muted pink. Like this, he comes across as a different person, without the scary tongue and those razor-edged eyes. “Never mind.”

Mydei averts his gaze, nearing embarrassment. It’s a strange sight, though not unwelcome. 

Phainon leans over the counter, prompting Mydei's attention and the turn of his head. He gathers all the sincerity in his body when he looks at Mydei, no different than a pleading puppy.

“I understand if you are upset. I had no intention of upsetting you,” he promises. 

Mydei jerks his body away, setting down the neglected cup. He fixates on the floor. “I'm not upset.” His fingers tap impatiently against wood. “It's just—what did she say?”

It clicks. Phainon nods in solidarity. “Other than your name and how you knew her, she didn't say anything.”

There's nothing else he can say: that's all there is to it. He hopes it's enough to put Mydei at rest, but he finds the man to be staring at him once again, returned to his routinely contempt. He eyes Phainon, silently accusing him. With what exactly he was accusing him of, Phainon couldn't dream to know.

Until now, of course.

“Does she send you here? Is that why you show up all the time? I don't need you to be my ‘friend.’”

And then it doesn't click anymore. 

His tone is edged with vexation, rougher than his typical firm politeness. Not enough to be angry but in no universe would he be considered content. His glare is scathing, fit to demolish anyone's ego.

Phainon cannot prevent the incredulous gasp that escapes him. “What?! No! How did you come to that conclusion?!”

He's confused, appalled, even, by the sudden shift in atmosphere. Surely, Mydei understands what Phainon's actions have been insinuating. There is no possible way that he hasn't caught on to his true intentions. He might struggle with being explicit with his motives, but he sure as hell isn't subtle about it, either.

Mydei crosses his arms with a thinly disguised scowl. “You come out of nowhere and just happen to conveniently be close with Tribios?” He doesn’t bother to hide his irritation. Phainon can't quite pinpoint the emotion present on Mydei's face—something between agitation, displeasure, and shyness. It'd be cute if Phainon wasn't grasping for straws right now. “What, do you also update her about my well-being?”

Oh, how Phainon yearns to facepalm then. He's attached himself to an incredibly difficult man, and he can't even find it in him to be remotely upset about it. It only makes him fall deeper into the grave he's dug for himself.

“Mydei, please,” and Mydei reddens at the vocalization of his name; why exactly, Phainon can't be bothered to figure it out. “I come here out of my own volition. I wouldn't bother every day if I didn't genuinely want to be here.”

Mydei grows cautious. “Then why do you come here every morning?”

For the longest time, Phainon would roll around in bed, dwelling in his worry and fear that he'd somehow drive Mydei away. Now, it appears there was no reason for any of that, since everything he's done has apparently been overlooked this entire time. He cannot decide between laughter or bewilderment, relief or confusion. 

Phainon raises his voice, never out of anger, only sheer astonishment. “Why else?! For you!” He's well informed about the few stares their little interaction has managed to attract, but it holds no priority to him. He cards his fingers through his hair in a lackluster effort to ground himself with composure. “I mean—I tip you every day! I order coffee! Who the hell orders coffee at a bakery?”

Mydei’s stance weakens, the sharpness in his glare gone. In his anger’s stead lies a bashful appearance.

“Some people do,” he mumbles.

Phainon does wind up facepalming in the end. “Not when there’s a cafe two minutes down the block.” He glimpses at Mydei, who has been feverishly avoiding eye contact for the last minute. It's the most emotion that Phainon has risen out of him yet, his cheeks blooming with pink. Phainon wants to wrap him up and squeeze him in his arms. “I'd flirt with you all the time. Haven't you noticed?”

Mydei blushes an incomprehensible amount. He whips his head to the side when he mutters a soft-spoken, “Oh.”

Phainon pities him. This probably wasn't the best time or place for a confession. He’s succumbed to his brashness once more, and he's managed to drag Mydei down along with him. 

It is great to get everything off his chest, though.

He's about to ask, are you alright, but Mydei beats him to it with his own inquiry.

“Do you really mean what you say?”

It catches Phainon off guard. Whatever this unnamed interrogation was, Mydei was obstinate about it until he was satisfied enough to drop the topic. He had every right to be as unyielding as he wanted, so there was no protest on Phainon's part.

“Obviously! I wouldn't lie about something like that, honest!” He places a hand on his heart, mindful of its sappiness yet doing so anyway. “You can slap me all you want if I'm ever proven wrong.”

Mydei surveys him, analytical in his search. His face is still pink, but it has calmed down remarkably since, and he fidgets with his braid as he decides his next course of action. Phainon sits like a man awaiting his execution, when, without warning, his latte is ripped from the counter and disappears with Mydei, retreating to the brewer.

Mydei must've sensed his puzzlement. “I'm making you a new one. It's gotten lukewarm.”

Phainon watches Mydei's back as he works. It all happened so fast, he's still reeling from their earlier exchange, hairs on end and warm all over. He registers that Mydei is quicker than usual, as if he's rushing, bouncing between stations hurriedly. Phainon feels responsible in a way. Lukewarm coffee doesn't seem that big of a deal to warrant the entire remaking of his order.

And then, he witnesses a new step, one he hasn't seen in a while. On top of the tamping, brewing, and steaming, Mydei retrieves a black marker, rapidly scribbling on the sleeve of the cup. Phainon’s confusion multiplies tenfold. He hadn't needed to write Phainon's name for a while, in light of the fact that barely anyone shared the same drink selection as him in the early mornings.

Mydei reappears in front of him, outstretching his arm. “Here.”

“Is this necessary?” Phainon asks, his own arm reaching for the cup. “I feel bad making you—”

“Here,” Mydei repeats. A cough. “Have a nice day.”

Phainon has to do a double-take. He stares at Mydei, again. He's still pink. A little winded from his running around earlier. “What? What about—”

“Have a nice day.”

Phainon is dumbfounded for the umpteenth time. He acquires his latte, warm in his palm, and heads for the door, his eyes still trained on Mydei. He walks the pace of a snail, turning his head every few seconds, until he's standing outside and even more perplexed about everything than when he'd first entered. He looks back, sees that Mydei is still studying him through the glass-paned door, and turns around.

His mind is completely blank as he walks around. He doesn't have class today, neither does he have anything resembling a plan, and it feels like he's forgotten something. He was supposed to pick something up for Castorice, but it occurs to him that he’s also forgotten that as well. 

He's not sure how he can continue the rest of his day like this. Every turn he makes, he's reminded of Mydei. The flush of his cheeks and the way he stammered with incredulity from Phainon's advances. He asks himself if he should have said something different. If he should have somehow salvaged the conversation in a different way, however that would've gone.

Phainon finally looks at the cup in his hand and sees the etches of black marker. His thumb traces the ink.

694-XXX-XXXX

text me

mydei

Oh.

He remembers now.

He forgot to leave a tip.

Chapter Text

For the sake of his health and self-esteem, Phainon does not show up at the bakery this morning for the first time since he’d discovered it. Even on the days when he knew Mydei wouldn’t be working, he still paid his daily visit out of respect for the business. Now, his reason for absence is completely selfish; he fears that his heart may combust if he were to face Mydei after yesterday.

He had read the note on his latte a dozen times, unbelieving of its message. He called Tribios about it, to which she giggled and said nothing else. He thinks it may be the ploy of some mischievous deity, or the blessing of Mnestia themself.

The number had found its place on Phainon's phone the moment he returned to his dorm. Currently, he's staring at the unnamed contact like a fool until he finds the confidence to press forward, typing out a greeting that hopefully would not be grounds for harassment. 

You

Hey!! Is this Mydei?

He immediately puts his phone down once the message is sent. Contrary to popular belief, he can be productive, and it has come to his attention that he has more than enough schoolwork to busy himself after idling this past week. He will not wait by his device like a deprived man. He’s better than that.

No more than a minute later, he hears a vibration and drops everything.

(694) XXX-XXXX

hi

(694) XXX-XXXX 

it is

The third message is sent as he unlocks the screen.

(694) XXX-XXXX

are you phainon  

Phainon feels like a naive school boy again, idealistic and prone to the ramblings of his imagination. He wonders what Mydei must be doing to prompt such a quick response. He takes it that business is slow, as expected when it was just barely after sunrise.

You

Yeah lol

You

How are u????

Mydei needs a lot longer to respond this time, and Phainon can almost see the careful deliberation from his side, the typing indicator fading in and out periodically. His phone hums again.

(694) XXX-XXXX

im fine

(694) XXX-XXXX 

are you not coming to the bakery today

The grin surfaces on his face before he can stop it. Perhaps he should feel a little guilty, but after presenting himself on a silver platter for who-knows how long, he finds no harm in drawing this out. Whether or not he'll be able to last his own game is entirely dependent on Mydei's  bewitchment. Phainon is strong, he knows, but so terribly, terribly weak when it comes to Mydei. He may as well have fun while he can before he's on his knees like a dog.

You

No not this morning :((((

You

Something came up :(

And by “something,” he really means the piled assignments that have mysteriously gone missing and the sharp ache in his heart whenever he thinks of a particular blonde, but that is nobody's business but his own.

(694) XXX-XXXX 

oh

(694) XXX-XXXX

okay

He watches the indicator disappear, reappear, then disappear. It's silent for a long while until he sees another notification.

(694) XXX-XXXX 

will you be busy for the whole day

He has to grip the edge of his desk to brace himself. Phainon painstakingly made a goal for himself and he plans to carry it out, regardless if he can already feel his resolve crumbling by the second and regardless if Mydei possesses the uncanny ability to somehow be adorable beyond a pixelated screen.

You

AWWW

You

Do u miss me <3

Mydei’s response is instant.

(694) XXX-XXXX 

no

(694) XXX-XXXX 

i never said that

(694) XXX-XXXX 

i was just wondering 

Phainon chuckles, either out of amusement or exasperation. Or both. Mydei will be the death of him. He's falling apart, fingers moving on their own. If anyone dares to ask, he'll say that his body had been taken by a bored spirit, and that he had no recollection of any of this.

You

When do u clock out?

He's making a mistake, but is it really a mistake if it involves Mydei? He hopes not.

(694) XXX-XXXX 

around 3

(694) XXX-XXXX 

why

Phainon stares at his laptop, open yet dimmed from inactivity. He blames it on the coffee. He has conditioned his body to accept caffeine every morning that he cannot function without it. That must be why he can't focus. It's the coffee. 

And, maybe, the person accompanying said coffee.

You

Ill pick u up after work

You

Dont miss me too much ;)

Mydei spends more time typing out a reply than he'd spent on all the others combined. Phainon uses this as an opportunity to change his contact name; talking to a sequence of numbers is too impersonal for his Mydei. 

When he receives the other man's response, a familiar warmth blooms in his chest. 

Mydei <333

🖕

He laughs.

═════

Phainon encounters him waiting outside the door.

Seeing Mydei without the usual apron get-up nearly stops him in his tracks. He'd been a little curious about what was under there for some time, but never would he believe that he'd see so soon. He's leaning against the wall, gazing at the overhead sky when he notices Phainon.

“Hey,” Mydei greets, detaching himself from the building.

Phainon is about to return the greeting, until his wrist is captured by an abnormally strong hand.

“Where were you?”

Phainon sputters, “Uh, hello to you, too?!” The hold on his arm is released with reluctance, but the ardency in Mydei's eyes has yet to waver. “Is that any way to treat one of your best regulars?”

Mydei scoffs, “I don't need to be professional outside of work hours.”

“It's not being professional, it's called giving me some room to breathe!” He makes an effort to shake off the burn of Mydei's skin against his. He's warm. “I told you already, something came up.”

“Bullshit.”

Mydei crosses his arms—that signature move of his. His lone golden earring bounces with the movement of his shoulders, along with… another one of his assets. The apron isn't here to conceal anything anymore. Phainon can see everything.

He tears his eyes away from Mydei's chest, floundering, “I mean it, I was busy! With studying and stuff. You know.”

Mydei squints. “You study at eight in the morning?”

“Uh, yes?”

Guilty as charged. Phainon offers his best smile, sheepish enough to convey his chagrin but with enough sincerity that renders it difficult for anyone to deny him.

It works, because Mydei sighs, pressing a palm to his forehead. “You are an awful liar.”

Phainon shrugs. “At least you know I'm an honest person?”

“Obviously,” Mydei scorns. “You're too honest. You're an open book.”

Before Phainon can ask what the hell that statement means or implies, he's tugged by his sleeve, aggressively gentle, if he could call it that. Mydei looks at him expectantly, frustration and fervor behind his pupils.

Of course, Mydei was right earlier. All of Phainon’s questions are answered before they enter his head, like he had been able to read Phainon from the very beginning. “You said you'd pick me up after work. Walk me to my apartment. I don't want to be alone.” Then, he looks away, as if ashamed of his own bluntness. “Unless you're opposed to that idea.”

Phainon goes weak. “Yeah, sure. Anything you want.”

═════

Despite Mydei claiming that they'd be walking together, Phainon stumbles every few steps. Mydei is ridiculously fast, like he wasn't walking but trying to create as much distance between them. Even though he's being dragged by his jacket, he still manages to stagger behind. 

He looks at Mydei and notices that there isn't a single sign of displeasure or exertion on his face, and if he did find a tinge of pink on those ears, he doubts it was from physical activity. It's the most dangerously impressive poker face he has ever borne witness to. Nothing but straightened brows and a relaxed jawline, belonging to a man who took every stride with purpose and confidence.

“Mydei,” Phainon puffed, wobbling to his side. “Can't you… slow down? I thought we were walking.” He should not be this spent from a few minutes with Mydei. His endurance cannot afford to be so poor. “And why is your apartment… so far away?”

Mydei shoots a questioning glance his way. “What are you on about? We are walking.”

Phainon's pleas do not go unheard, fortunately. He's able to walk by the Mydei's side after the man slows his legs, even if he has to pick up the pace a little. No longer will he worry about losing his breath in an attempt to converse.

They only truly stop when they arrive at a crosswalk, waiting upon the pedestrian signal. The sign flickers indecisively, and Phainon figures now is as good a time as any to speak with him.

He brings it up when they're given the okay to walk forward. “Why were you so mad about me not being there this morning?”

Mydei waits until they reach the other side. After speeding up momentarily and forcing Phainon to follow suit, he answers, “I wanted to speak to you.”

Phainon tilts his head in confusion. Definitely won't be the first or last time he'll have to do that. “Then why haven't you said a single word this entire time? You can talk to me right now.”

“Don't want to speak about it here,” Mydei countered, flatly. He looks ahead.

Phainon may not possess the perfect ability to assess a situation, but it does not necessarily mean he's incapable of reading people. He drops the subject as soon as he notes the way Mydei's voice tightens with stoicism. 

“That's okay,” he reassured. “We can talk about other things.”

Mydei strikes the pavement harder, each step longer than the last. “There's nothing for us to talk about.”

Phainon stares at him, open-mouthed. “Nothing? I didn't even know your name until a few weeks ago!” He elbows Mydei as they make a turn around the block, encouraging him to match his pace. “God forbid I want to learn more about you.”

Mydei remains soundless for an unbearably long minute. “What do you want to know?”

Phainon has to think for a second. It's not a matter of what he wants to know, but what he already knows, and what already knows isn't a whole lot. He'd be okay with any sort of information he can get his hands on. 

He pauses, and speaks with great consideration, “Like, what you do outside of work. Or what your favorite color is.” He trails off, listing every thought that comes to mind. “Your workout routine, the brand of shampoo you use, if you're a light sleeper or a deep one, how you think of me…”

Mydei glares at him. 

“What strange questions. School. Pink. No. No. No, and no.”

“Do you only respond in one-word answers?”

“No.”

Phainon groans, hands flying to his face. Unbelievable, this man. He wants to kiss him. “What's the point of allowing me to ask you questions If you're just not going to answer them?

“I can answer questions. I just don't like your questions.”

Stumped, Phainon stuffs his hands in his pockets, humming. “Doesn't that defeat the purpose of asking questions for the sake of getting to know someone? This isn't a job interview.” They reach a sidewalk leading to the entryway of a high-rise apartment complex, lined with greenery and flora. It looks out of place next to the bustling city, elegance contrasting urban imagery. “What do you consider acceptable?”

Mydei side-eyes him. “What do I consider acceptable?”

“Yeah. You said you didn't like my questions.” Phainon stares at the approaching building, seemingly converging with the scattered clouds above. “What would you consider a good question?”

Without delay, Mydei halts. He turns to a very perplexed, yet intrigued Phainon, who studies him back with the same amount of interest. Their shared space shrinks, that unspoken line drawn by the latter corroding into dust, body warmth intermingling and the scent of tart fruit overtaking Phainon's senses. Mydei steps closer, closer, and closer until his mouth is searing against his ear.

“You want to know what I think?”

Phainon stills. What else is he to do, face to face with an egregious amount of sass, beauty, and power encapsulated into one person? His neck is ablaze, eyes transfixed on the object of his attraction which happened to be inches from him. His throat is stuck, lost somewhere down the line where he had fallen for a guy he didn't know existed a year ago. He can't speak, can't say so much as a What the hell are you doing?

Mydei splays his hand against Phainon's chest, pressing softly and eliciting a choked noise from him. He lingers on his words when they enter the charged air between them, each syllable drawn out as if he savors them, rolling along the edges of his teeth. 

“For one, you could have asked me,” Mydei begins, entrancing and sultry and every single thing a man shouldn't be, “if I'd be free tonight.”

Phainon swallows, hard. His face glows from both the proximity and the man against him.

“And I would have had no problem answering that.”

He keeps his mouth shut as Mydei pulls away, because, honestly, what the fuck is he supposed to say to that? He's looking him up and down like he was no more than something to be devoured with that glint in his eyes, the same glint that Phainon had been subject to a hundred times before and could never decipher what it was or what it meant, until now. 

Mydei breaks the silence. “Will you still be able to pick me up next time?”

Phainon bobs his head eagerly. “Uh-huh. And every other time after that, too.”

He would've nodded regardless if he was able to or not. He doesn't think he has the capacity to deny this man. 

“Okay,” Mydei relents, pleased. He gestures to the same high-rise complex Phainon had been gazing at earlier. “We're here. Thank you for walking with me.” He walks a few feet toward the entryway before stopping, slightly turning his head. “And will I also see you at the bakery?”

It doesn't dawn on Phainon that this is reality, and Mydei is speaking to him. Him. He can't think right. 

“Yes.”

For a fraction of a second, he catches Mydei's smile, and then he's off, disappearing behind sleek glass doors.

Phainon belatedly notices the ache in his lower half. 

═════

“You guys don’t have breaks? Ever?”

It’s a quarter past three, their usual meet-up time. It's become a routine to seek out Mydei's presence: once in the morning, and another in the afternoon. Phainon doesn’t leave the dormitory before eating, but lately, he’s been ordering a pastry along with his latte, all to loiter a few minutes more at the bakery. They wander down a familiar set of sidewalks, navigating the streets with mastery.

“We do,” Mydei says between steps, hopping over a crack in the pavement. “I just don't take them.”

A gasp. “Why?”

“It keeps me busy.”

Phainon frowns. It's an attitude he can somewhat relate to, if his constant visits to the gym or rigorous fitness regimen were anything to go by, but he had never heard of someone willingly giving themselves more work.

He takes the bait. “Then, does that mean you like baking?”

With indignation, Mydei huffs, “Take a wild guess.”

“It's not like you ever tell me anything!”

Mydei walks faster, expecting Phainon to emulate. He does.

“I find it to be relaxing,” he explains, unhurried and nothing like Phainon, who puts his hand on the man's shoulder to keep up. “It's not for the money.”

Phainon acknowledges him with a whistle. “But the extra cash is nice, no?”

“I don't need to worry about that,” is Mydei's sole response.

He should really get used to Mydei's enigmatic answers. Bewilderment is an emotion that has been making itself a lot more prominent these days. 

“Worry about what? Money?” Phainon presses, his curiosity piqued.

Mydei nods. 

When he falls silent, Phainon has no idea if he should ask more or let go of it. The unfortunate reality of trying to please Mydei wherever and whenever he can; he's absolutely clueless as to what will set him off and what won't.

He fills the space with a joke, in hopes of lifting the tension. “Don't tell me you're secretly rich or something.”

Utter silence is Phainon's reply. He thinks it's the closest thing he'll get to an answer. 

He pulls Mydei to his side. “Really?”

Mydei retreats a few steps, holding his arms to his chest. “I'm not rich.” He focuses on the concrete when they make another turn, his shoes suddenly very interesting. “It's my parents.”

Everything falls into place. If Phainon knew what an epiphany felt like, he imagines this is what it'd be. The too-fancy street where Mydei lived, the sleek multi-unit building they had been visiting every day, the fact that he had been flaunting around golden jewelry this entire time like it was worth nothing—he should've seen it sooner. 

“Huh,” Phainon mused. He ogles at Mydei's clothing, and the evidence left little room for doubt. He was no fashion guru, but he knew Mydei looked good, reflected in the way he held himself, refined and polished. He still doesn't understand one thing, however. “Wait, if you're loaded, then why do you work?” 

Mydei presses his lips together. “Like I said, it keeps me busy.”

Phainon circles around Mydei, checking out his expression. Not angry, but not pleased. He diverges from the subject. “Well, at least you have your own place!” he beams. Mydei can be annoyed all he wants, but he can never resist his smile. He plans to use this trick until the day they part. “Must be nice, right? And I thought having a single was luxurious!”

His efforts are rewarded with a low murmur of agreement. Mydei peeks over his shoulder, quickly casting his gaze elsewhere when his eyes are met. He catches how the muscles in Mydei’s hand twitch as he takes a steady breath, avoiding Phainon in the same way one might avoid an insect.

Mydei is very, very quiet. He sounds much smaller when he delicately asks, “Would you like to see it?”

Phainon blinks twice, his mind racing. “See what?”

The honey gold of Mydei's irises engulfs him with scrutiny, and all at once, he's pushed into a metaphorical corner, heaving. His heart drops, and he doesn't want to find it anytime soon.

“My place, obviously,” Mydei drawls. 

Chapter Text

The interior is not at all what Phainon was expecting.

It's a far cry from the unit’s contemporary layout—all neutral colors with glass windows that stretch from the ceiling to the floor, looking over the city below. Inside are regal crimson curtains, draped along the glossy floor accented with long carpet the same hue of red. Most of his furniture consists of cypress and darkened wood, traditional though not without modernity.

The atmosphere is not uncanny or off-putting, he observes. It's obvious that it's a home, actively lived in and occupied by its solitary inhabitant.

Under normal circumstances, Phainon would have taken his time appreciating its grandeur, but it would seem that aforementioned solitary inhabitant has other plans for him today.

As luck would have it, his vision of the place would soon be obscured by another body.

“Take it easy,” he whispers, unlooping Mydei's arms from his neck. “We're still in the entryway. What happened to showing me around?”

Mydei glowers, shoving him harder against the wall with an ungodly amount of strength. He catches Phainon’s bottom lip with his teeth and sucks, slotting their bodies together. “My place, my rules.”

Phainon's pulled by his collar, and before he can grasp what's happening, Mydei's pressing his chest against him, nipping at his jawline. He moves with the vigor of a man who will not awake to the sun tomorrow, each touch imbued with heated desire, tongue lazily dragging along Phainon’s neck and claiming the skin there.

It doesn't feel real, feels like he's dreaming. He can hardly accept that just a moment ago, he was standing at the doorway before Mydei pounced on him, offering his body up like he'd been wanting to for ages, with the audacity to look shy while doing so. When he had imagined what his first kiss with Mydei would potentially be like, this was not it. Far be it for him to complain.

Their noses bump ungracefully, the velvet of Mydei’s tongue assuming control, hot and suffocating. Phainon lets him take what he wants, lets him lick the roof of his mouth and run along its perimeters, lets him do whatever will bring him fulfillment.

To say that this version of Mydei surpassed even his wildest dreams would be an understatement. It’s everything Phainon imagined and somehow more, if that were possible. Every time Phainon pushes him away by the shoulders to catch his breath, he whines, doubling down and crashing their teeth together with more enthusiasm than before. He emits the tiniest noise when Phainon rams their hips into one another, throwing his head back.

“Bedroom,” Mydei pants, completely out of shape to be making demands, red-faced and gasping. “Now.”

Phainon kisses the corner of his lip. “Where, baby?”

Mydei whines again.

“Down the hall, make a right… first door.”

His hands find the meat of Mydei’s thighs, and in one fell swoop, he’s being carried bridal-style, flung over Phainon’s shoulders like he weighed close to nothing. He delights in the undignified noise from Mydei and rushes with purpose, hands on a gleaming doorknob within seconds.

The door flies open, the heavy strike of wood announcing their arrival. Phainon almost gets whiplash as he evaluates the room. He couldn’t be too sure as to what he was anticipating, but what lay ahead of him was a sight he could have never guessed.

Everything is so very Mydei, to put it simply.

The bed sheets are a deep hue of magenta, embroidered with intricate flowers that could only belong to fine craftsmanship. Atop the bed frame is a sheer canopy, cascading over carved wood in a silken torrent, brushing the carpeted ground. There's pink, lots of it, and perched upon a generous set of pillows is a small, stuffed cat with giant eyes.

Numerous books are strewn about, some open and some neatly tucked away, and Phainon vaguely notices the full-body mirror next to what he assumes is a walk-in closet. An ottoman sits in front of the mirror, cushioned with the same magenta. 

It's more fitting of royalty than it is a working baker. Phainon wants to tease him about it, but Mydei's clawing at his back and writhing, doing what he can in feeble protest. 

Phainon coos, “So needy.”

Mydei jabs him in the ribs one last time before he's haphazardly tossed onto the covers, caged between Phainon’s forearms. The frame creaks beneath the shared weight of their bodies, more so when Mydei rolls on his back, holding his legs up by the underside of his knees. 

Phainon bites his lips at the picture ahead of him. He hasn't the slightest idea what he could have possibly done to deserve this, but he lacks the standing to deny it, not after running for so long.

Mydei is beautiful. It'd be redundant to repeat it, yet he can't stop repeating it in his head like an affirmation. His muscles, chiseled to magnificence, though his thighs and breasts are outrageously abundant, hypnotizingly soft in both appearance and touch. His tattoos, brilliantly scarlet and pronounced, even if he hides them behind long sleeves and turtlenecks. His hair falls around his face identical to that of a higher being, divine in all aspects and in no world should be mingling with a man like Phainon.

“Off,” Mydei interrupts, wrenching Phainon from his trance. His hands hover over the waistband of his pants, a wordless invitation. “Or must I do everything?”

Phainon doesn't need to be told twice, being a fast learner and all. He unfastens Mydei's belt with a type of swiftness he hadn't known was feasible, slithering it off and tossing it to the floor. He works on Mydei’s slacks now, about to hook his fingers on the hem until a thought occurs to him.

He freezes, raising his head. “Wait.”

From below, Mydei leers at him, an amalgamation of concern and disapproval written all over. “What is it?”

“I just realized,” Phainon laments, overtaken with utter horror, “we haven't even had our first date yet!”

He believes he sees the dilation of Mydei's pupils, but there's really no way to tell when you're being kicked off your knees with enough force to incapacitate the average human.

Phainon's head collides with a pillow, in a daze when he's suddenly staring at the canopy's ceiling. Lost, his eyes dart around, and by the time they land on Mydei, he's already climbing over him, his torso swaddled by the spread of those thighs. Mydei rubs his ass against his groin, oscillating in frustration.

The man above him seethes, “A guy brings you into his bed, and that's what you have to say?” 

A choke leaves his throat as Mydei sheds his pants, rendering him bare and vulnerable to the hunger coursing throughout Phainon's body. It's useless to hide his appetite, so he stares, and stares. He takes in the view of Mydei's cock, leaking beneath the fabric of his briefs and in dire need of attention. 

He’s soaked, courtesy of Phainon's incessant teasing. Poor thing looks as if he's been denied release, throbbing and unable to do much of anything. Phainon could fix that. He'd have his mouth on Mydei for hours, remind him just how amazing he is and wring orgasm after orgasm until he's sobbing and begging and a fucking mess.

He can't get ahead of himself. Mydei is on top of him, letting him know everything he needs to know, everything he needs.

With the removal of his pants came the removal of his top. Mydei pulls his shirt over his head in one quick motion, his tits bouncing in response and simultaneously making Phainon twitch. He's not going to make it.

Mydei bunches the cloth of Phainon's own shirt in his fist, coaxing him to slip it off. “Your clothes are awful,” he remarks. “Remove them.”

Phainon ignores the somehow vulgar insult and peels his shirt off with a newfound sense of urgency, discarding it to the same pile where Mydei had left his. His belt comes next, and he, regrettably, has to lose the warmth of Mydei's ass if he wants to progress further. 

“Can’t really do much when you're on my crotch like this.”

Mydei wets his lips, smirking. “You don't want me?”

“Fuck, that’s not—” Phainon relinquishes, temporarily shutting his eyes. “You are a beast.”

“I know.” Mydei slides down the mattress until he's replacing Phainon's hands with this, loosening the belt with deft. “May as well do it for you.” Regarding his jeans, he cared not for poise, yanking them off.

As the heat of Phainon's skin joins the air, he understands in due time that his current state is perhaps no better than Mydei's. To some degree, he'd known, but freeing his hardened dick really nailed the coffin. If Mydei was soaked, then he was drenched, and he couldn't give less of a shit about it, mostly because Mydei is gawking at him and the outline of his dick. His ego inflates more than his lust.

Phainon taunts him. “Afraid you can't take it?”

Mydei sneers, “I can. Don't underestimate me.”

Swinging his legs off the bed, Mydei saunters to his nightstand and pulls open a drawer, rummaging for something there. He returns with a palm-sized bottle, half empty of its contents. Phainon doesn't know whether he should be aroused or alarmed by that implication.

He lays there propped on his elbows, watching Mydei ease out of his underwear one leg at a time with bated breath, excruciatingly tedious. The bottle's cap is flipped open with a sharp click, lubricant spouting onto Mydei's fingers, vacating in a steady stream. Phainon swallows around nothing.

Mydei pushes his hands away when he finds himself on Phainon’s groin again. He lifts his hips, slicked fingers prodding at his entrance. “No touching. I can do it myself.”

Phainon stifles a moan. “I can't touch anything ?” He positions his hands on Mydei's waist, thumbs pressing circles into the flesh.

Mydei leans his body against Phainon’s for support, an arm balanced on the latter's shoulder while the other remains at his hole. “Hips only.”

Hesitantly, Phainon nods. Amazing as it was to be smothered by the blonde’s chest, it's a struggle to keep his hands stationary. It's a struggle to do practically anything when Mydei is leaking on him, his dick in contact with Phainon's abs, pulsating and lewd.

The first finger finally enters him, and Mydei gasps, his face wrinkled in concentration. He's gradual with it, tiny, hitched noises the product of his labor. He takes his time, reaching his knuckle before pulling out, repeating the process until he's fit to add a second.

Phainon burns hotter after hearing an obscene squelch, his erection spasming in complaint. Mydei hauls his fingers in, and out, sighing pleasantly with each drag, going faster to make room for the third. He begins to piston into himself, his wrist angled a certain way and his tongue out like a whore. He trembles when he lets out a fractured cry, heaving.

“Mydei,” Phainon murmurs, squeezing his waist and sure to leave behind a mark. “Come on. Let me help you.”

But no matter how hard he insists, Mydei firmly shakes his head. His arm is less consistent now, jolting every time he brushes against what Phainon assumes is his sweet spot, and what he wouldn't give to be responsible for those lovely noises.

He can't stop himself. His head surges forward, mouthing one of Mydei’s nipples and tugging as he continues to fuck himself on his fingers.

Mydei instantly whimpers, high and raspy as his free hand shoots to Phainon’s hair, holding on for dear life. “You,” he shrieks, tapering off into a lengthy moan when Phainon sucks on the swollen bud. “That's— ohh. ”

He removes himself with a wet pop, retracts his hands from Mydei's waist and seeks the comfort of his breasts instead. He squeezes them and watches with rapt fascination how the space between his fingers is filled with soft muscle, not a single inch of his palm going untouched. 

All the while Mydei is squirming in his lap, long forgotten about scissoring himself open. He sits there and takes it, allows himself to be groped by Phainon, allows himself to enjoy it, to plead and cry every time a tongue swipes over his most tender areas.

“Can't believe you just walk around with these,” Phainon marvels, awestruck. He feels like some perverted degenerate, and Mydei's shameless whining wasn't helping his case. If, by some chance, he was a pervert in some fucked up, alternate universe, he's certain he'd only be one for Mydei. “Acting all tough and for what?”

Mydei grits his teeth. “You… need to watch your, hah, mouth.”

Phainon bats his pale eyelashes in faux innocence, grinning. “You're adorable, Mydeimos.”

“I'm— ah!”

Mydei is shoved onto his back, a reenactment of when they had first fallen into bed together. He's never done well with idleness. No sane man would pass up a feast, and Phainon considers this to hold true for himself. He gets ahold of Mydei’s legs, toned and sculpted to perfection, and spreads them wide.

Mydei allows him to. Mydei allows him to do a lot of things, he realizes. 

Mydei's dripping onto the sheets, his flushed skin the color of red wine and materializing as blotches across his figure. Ivory strands radiate from his head, plunged with carmine and bleeding into magenta. He's magnificent.

Phainon is starved. His fingers dance above the surface of Mydei's heat, committing the contours of his being into memory, like he'll lose him if doesn’t.

"Do you want it?” he asks, not really a question, not really anything.

Mydei wraps his legs around Phainon's waist, digging the heel of his foot into his lower back and pulling him impossibly closer. “Stop asking questions you already know the answers to,” he responds weakly.

He doesn't want to wait anymore. His briefs are lowered, enough for him to kick them off and free his length, fully erect and so hard that it's downright painful. He lasts for one stroke before he gives up.

“Lube?”

Phainon's directed to a crumpled mess of the covers. “I left it… over there.”

He recovers the bottle hidden away under a blanket fold, extracting all that he could. There was probably no need for it, especially with how wet he already was, but he doesn't think as the cooled liquid envelops his warmth. He hisses, coating himself thoroughly. It smells faintly of pomegranate.

He dares to pause. “No protection?”

“I don't want it.” Mydei tightens his legs, sweet when he cries, “Hurry.”

Phainon is quick to pacify him, “Relax, princess. I'm not going anywhere.” He caresses Mydei's cheek, adjusting an astray lock of hair. “You ready?”

His answer comes in the form of Mydei spreading himself open, fluttering and ready to be filled, to take him and all that he possessed. He orients his length to Mydei's rim, jutting his hips forward and claiming what had meant to be his. 

Words alone cannot describe the sensation that is bestowed upon him. Master of underplay, he'd be called, where describing the feeling of Mydei as anything other than scorching sanctity would feel blasphemous. He clenches around him with a vice-like grip, producing tiny, hushed noises, drawing Phainon in further.

He analyzes Mydei’s face, looks at his eyebrows, lips, the slight contractions of his features. He doesn't allow himself to move, not until Mydei silently nods, gazing at him with such clouded, half-lidded eyes, Phainon would think he were making love to a siren rather than a guy—an unbelievably handsome guy—that he'd managed to catch in his arms. He rocks himself into Mydei, stopping when he needs to, either because of his own assumptions or the evident discomfort in Mydei's body.

Phainon establishes a rhythm he finds suitable, gingerly working his way inside, recognized with a generous moan from Mydei each time he bottoms out. He does this until he’s ready, until Mydei's ready. He would have waited as long as he needed to.

But Mydei doesn’t wait. “Faster,” he demands, his snappy attitude drained from him. Even so, he makes his discontent apparent, tightening around Phainon and thrashing. “I can handle it.”

“Okay,” Phainon soothes. “This is all for you.”

He doesn't deem this cause for a warning. He snaps his hips, entering in a single movement and effectively punching the air from Mydei’s lungs, shaking the bed frame. His body drops, thrusting with barely concealed passion as his forearms find their place at either side of Mydei's torso.

Phainon is brought into a hug by a pair of sturdy arms, his build colliding with Mydei’s, who goes about scraping his fingernails down the length of his back. Mydei fails to do anything but pant into his ear, expressing his immense pleasure with debauchery and fueling his thirst.

“Does that feel good?” Phainon croons, patronizing in a manner that he knows would infuriate Mydei in seconds. Sweat beads on his temple, worsened by the feeling of nails raking against his skin. “If I knew all you wanted was to be fucked ‘till you couldn't think anymore, I would've made myself a lot more obvious.”

“That's—it isn't—” Phainon slams forward again, shutting down whatever it was that Mydei was going to say. What comes out in its place is the neediest sound, easy on the ears. “P-Phainon—” 

He hums, “What is it, baby?”

Mydei arches off the bed at that, biting Phainon's shoulder and muffling his wail, forcing Phainon to muffle a sound of his own. Mydei’s cock stands proud in between the proximity of their stomachs, neglected.

“Oh, I get it,” Phainon concludes. He lovingly pets Mydei's side, placating him with short, featherlight kisses. “But you can last longer than this, can't you? I know you can.”

“You are… such a—oh!”

Phainon flips him over, ass up and face pressed into the bed. Mydei looks back at him, disoriented, aggrieved, and exhilarated, all into one expression. His eyes are glossed over, his cheeks sporting dried tear tracks, which were way more erotic than they should have been. Phainon gives him a throw pillow as a form of peace offering.

He should have done this sooner. Mydei presented to him, convenient for his taking and worship. Phainon doesn't waste time, doing his best to settle them down, and then he's shoving himself inside, groaning alongside his bed partner. He clutches Mydei's waist in a show of dwindling composure.

The new position is unfamiliar, to say the least, but Phainon has found its advantages. It takes a process of trial and error until he uncovers the right slant of his pelvis, finding it to be much easier to locate a particular area that Mydei enjoys very much. Phainon keeps his body leaned forward, close, intimate, as he fucks Mydei open, ramming into the spot that had him begging.

Mydei releases a yelp, drooling onto his pillow, uncaring of his blatant lechery and volume. Phainon regards the scene in front of him in a way one might regard a spectacle, and it was as amusing as it was arousing. 

“R-Right th—ohh, there,” Mydei urges, repeating Phainon's name into the room like it's the one thing that brings him clarity, like it's the one thing that he can think of without breaking down into a mess of lube and spit and tender words. “Keep, aah, going—”

Phainon slows. “What do you say?”

He practically sobs when he says, “Please! Please, ahn!” Mydei takes the form of a different man, now, limp and without his dignity, spiraling into a wreck of euphoria. “Please, please, please fu–fuck me,” he begs, swaying his hips enticingly.

It's enticing, alright. Phainon is almost scared by the blood that rushes to his dick, and he moves automatically. Seeing the unfazed and intimidating De on his stomach, clinging to the pillow Phainon had given him and pleading for more, more, and more. De, who is Mydei. Mydei, who is terribly kind and endearing and apparently really good with kids, which, by the way, killed Phainon when he found out.

Phainon will give him more. He runs a hand down Mydei's shuddering back, alleviating the nerves there, before he reaches his ass and smacks, a red print flaring in the trail of his strike.

Mydei mewls, silently screaming as Phainon pounds him into the mattress, the headboard banging the wall and meeting his every thrust. The crying ensues, tears pooling onto the pillow and darkening the fabric, dampened with the outcome of Mydei's gratification. He finds purchase by latching onto the sheets, pulling and pulling, doing everything and nothing.

Phainon spanks him a second time, smoothing over the pink flush right after. He reaches down, takes Mydei's seeping cock in his hand and kisses the shell of his ear, so close he knows he'll hear every drag of his words. 

“So wonderful. So, so good, my sweet boy,” he praises, and Mydei pushes against him, as if to miraculously take him deeper, to feel him long after Phainon leaves. He pumps Mydei's cock in sync with his thrusts, listens to his frantic moaning and allows for his innermost thoughts to escape him. “I wonder, what happened to the big scary lion?”

“Sh-Shut… mmf, uuup,” Mydei babbles, and Phainon sets about stroking him harder, glides his hand across the entire length and palms the head. He exclaims, panicked, “Wait, I'm—I’m—”

Phainon understands. “You're what, princess? Use your words.”

“I'm gonna, fuck—”

He closes the distance between their bodies, Mydei’s back to his chest. It's cramped, skin sticky from their sweat and conjoined fluids, the aroma of acidic pomegranate invading his senses once again. His hips move briskly with hand, ushering them both to completion, his fingers calculating. 

“It's okay, sweetheart,” Phainon speaks, as gentle as he can be. He feels it, too, the accumulation of his pleasure lurking behind him. He cannot stave it off for much longer, the acceleration of his orgasm a consequence of Mydei. Always Mydei. “Where do you want it? Tell me.”

Mydei twists his head, turning to him. His mouth is wide open, tongue lolled out and saliva dripping down his chin. His cheeks are covered in tears, dry and fresh alike, and his eyes bear conviction when he says, “Inside.” 

Phainon curses, “Shit.” His body moves, not out of his own accord. He can feel the sting in his back, from the strain, from the scratches littering his spine, from the oppressive heat. He's consumed by Mydei's desperate face, his lips ajar and swollen from biting. “A-Are you sure? I don't, don't want to—”

“Yes, yes, I am,” Mydei interjects, tearfully. “Please, fill me, make me—make me yours.”

Phainon looks up, blinking his eyes shut. He thanks Kephale or God, or whoever the fuck he should be thanking in this scenario. He thinks he'd be okay dying here, in the snugness of Mydei's ass on a random afternoon.

He hunches forward, plunging his fingers inside Mydei's mouth. His partner gets the memo and licks around him, sucking needily while still withstanding the onslaught of Phainon's relentless swiping. 

Mydei tightens considerably, and he knows. He pinpoints his prostate and bullies it, ingraining the sensation of his quivering thighs, the auditory paragon that were his sounds, octaves higher than the deep drone of his voice. 

Then, Mydei convulses, whimpering, “Phainon,” the prettiest he's ever heard his name delivered by another person. He’s spilling into Phainon's hand, the covers underneath, every limb seized by world-shattering ecstasy. Mydei is loud, so goddamn loud, and Phainon doesn't know if he has any neighbors but he's sort of hoping he does, that way everyone can hear him staking his claim.

He takes after Mydei, moaning his name as he breeds him full of his come, overwhelmed with his own climax, his muscles contracting involuntarily. Mydei squeezes him dry, sucks him until his cock is spent and void of anything else, takes him deeper until he's in pain and they're both gasping for oxygen, recollecting themselves.

Phainon withdraws his dick, mesmerized by his come trickling down Mydei’s legs. He looks over and sees the blissful expression on Mydei’s face, layered with a sheen of sweat. He feels compelled to say something, but he has no idea what. He decides upon comfortable silence.

They say nothing when they replace the bed covers, when he's resting his cheek against Mydei's chest, held close and fit together under the blankets. When he hears the soft beating of a heart, inhaling the wood-like, fruity notes of the other man's scent, in the privacy of Mydei's apartment.

Mydei speaks quietly into the sweat-damp mess of Phainon's hair, and he's probably saying something important. Something having to do with the gross aftermath of their fucking or the grievous pain that will surely settle in their limbs the following morning, both of which being very valid concerns, and yet the mellow tune of Mydei's voice lulls Phainon to slumber regardless.

Before he succumbs to his exhaustion, the last thing he hears is a gentle utterance of his name punctuated by a weightless kiss against his forehead.

═════

Mydei wakes up twenty minutes before his alarm.

He instinctively reaches for his phone he hopes is somewhere nearby, but he's weighed by another presence, who is dragging him down in silent objection.

He places a hand on Phainon’s shoulder, shaking him gently. “Wake up. I need to go soon.”

Phainon stirs, rubbing his eyes open and sighing. Mydei looks at the window and sees the sun has already fallen, the sky streaked with warm pinks and reds. He can roughly guess how long they've been out for.

His attention is grabbed when a hand plays with his hair. “Go where?”

“Class,” he monotoned.

Phainon gapes at him like he had just murdered his dog, or worse. “Why do you take an evening class?”

Mydei retorts, offended, “Why do you take a morning class?”

“They're not even that early!”

“Forget it.” Mydei crawls out of the bed and winces, shaky on his feet. He turns his head and spots Phainon staring at him with round, pleading eyes, devious in its innocence. “I'm still going.”

Phainon joins him, nearly falling as he stands up. “Can't you skip?” He embraces Mydei from behind, inhaling in the crook of his neck. “Just this once.”

“Absolutely not.”

Phainon does not surrender. “Pleeease? I'll make it up to you.” He pecks Mydei’s nape, his marks and hickeys. This moron, probably inspecting his work like an art piece. “The day isn't over yet. Let me take you out.”

It does sound appealing. He hasn't heard of sex before a date; usually, it's the other way around, but he's not going to complain. 

He still doesn't know how he got here, though. He should have thought things through, maybe think twice about inviting over the attractive idiot who treats him nice every day, makes him laugh and provides company he doesn't want to find anywhere else.

Mydei exhales shakily. “Fine.”

Phainon bursts with joy. He lifts Mydei in his arms, twirling them around foolishly and, Mydei, upset as he was to admit it, adored every second. 

They tumble into bed together, tangled in the other's limbs.

═════

On his way to class, Phainon follows his, now, usual route, no longer considered new. Familiar buildings serve as markers of his path, pointing to his destination: a bakery at the heart of the city. His feet lead him to a sight that makes his heart sing.

He plows through a door with the usual grin on his face. No stranger to his frequent arrivals, the bell chimes, harmonious. He waves and greets himself despite there being no need to, not anymore.

“Good morning, Mydei!”

A familiar figure is already gazing at him. He's confronted with an affectionate smile, reserved for him and nobody else.

“Good morning, Phainon.”