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“Come now,” Anaxa murmurs. His voice has been warmed just a bit from its typical indifference, sun-soaked from the day and yet still not quite sated. “Be good, Phainon. It’s only until we get home.”
Mydei turns from where he had been arranging the last of the beach equipment in the back of the traveling chariot. The dromas pulling them along lumbers down the path slowly, making for a steady wobble that has Phainon’s eyes drooping. Much like a baby chimera, he is unnaturally prone to falling asleep in moving carriages.
Anaxa cuts him a glance from where he is sitting on the other side of the chariot. Phainon had initially gotten in between them, as always treating them equally, but while Mydei was busy making sure that none of their things would fall off on the way home, his head had fallen onto Anaxa’s shoulder, the rest of his body following suit in nestling closer to him on instinct.
“You’re being too nice to him,” Mydei says, somewhat disgruntled. Anaxa brushes a stray tuft of light hair out of Phainon’s face and back behind his ear, caressing his cheek with a gentleness in his posture and expression that Mydei has only ever seen directed at his student. Phainon lets out a low hum of contentment, and his eyes close fully.
“As I keep telling you, there’s nothing wrong with a bit of positive reinforcement.”
Despite Anaxa’s counterargument, he does take his hand off Phainon’s face, seeing as how it is clearly not working as intended.
Mydei takes the opportunity to reach out and grab Phainon by the arm, pulling him off Anaxa’s shoulder. Phainon opens his eyes to look at him, making a noise of confusion as to why his rest has been disrupted, and Anaxa scowls at the blatant thievery.
“He’s too tired to do anything,” Mydei says, reasonably. “Anything of his own volition, at least. But he won’t mind if you just take what you need.”
“I see that someone’s sexual education never extended to the concept of courtesy,” Anaxa says with condescension. “If you so desire, I can arrange a lesson.”
Mydei rolls his eyes at the almost customary provocation. Anaxa is clearly annoyed at having Phainon taken from him without asking, but not annoyed enough to start a real scuffle, knowing that Mydei is more likely to get things started and that he will eventually return him. In the meantime, while Anaxa watches, he lifts Phainon bodily and settles him onto his lap, the thin silks of their still-damp swim chitons doing little to obscure the hardness waiting underneath for him.
“Well? Are you going to let me fuck you, deliverer?” Mydei asks, half-mocking.
Phainon squirms under his hands, very briefly and rather uselessly, a faint frown surfacing on his face when he gives up and the hardness continues to prod up against his entrance. “…no,” he mumbles, when he’s managed to process the question. “I want to sleep.”
“Hm.” Mydei tilts his head, pretending to consider the words. “Maybe I should rephrase the question. Are you going to stop me?”
Anaxa scoffs. Phainon stares weakly up at the ceiling of the carriage. He knows when he’s been beaten, unlike a certain scholar, and so he doesn’t say anything.
A smirk pulls up Mydei’s lips. “I thought so.”
There isn’t much kleos to be gained from such a foregone victory, but Mydei reaches down to claim his spoils nevertheless, pulling aside the loose fabric of Phainon’s chiton and his own just as easily. He doesn’t bother checking that Phainon is ready. After a full day of fucking, his opening is just as loose and wet as Mydei expects it to be.
Mydei breaches his entrance with the smoothness of experience, pulls Phainon’s hips down to meet his as though a long campaign has finally ended and this is his years-awaited homecoming.
“A-ah…”
True to word, or to his lack of it, Phainon doesn’t resist. Or it might be that he is genuinely too worn out now to do so, his limbs as strengthless and as idle as the tide pools they had spent hours soaking in. Mydei slides his hands under the base of his thighs and moves him up and down with ease, fucking his cock on Phainon’s body, setting a pace about as steady as the trundle of the dromas hauling their carriage.
“Support his head,” Anaxa says out of nowhere, somewhat scoldingly. Perhaps Mydei’s thoughts about the dromas had summoned him. “His neck will hurt. He’s falling asleep.”
Mydei looks up, not having noticed that he had looked down to begin with nor how focused on the slide of himself in and out of Phainon he had been. Phainon is indeed, somehow, in the process of falling back asleep, his head dipping in front of his chest and jostling awkwardly as Mydei moves him.
Mydei pauses for a moment, allowing Phainon to sink down on him fully while he frees a hand to lift to his face and pat him lightly on the cheek. “Wake up, deliverer. Are you so bored of me?”
“Nngh,” Phainon says, incomprehensibly.
Mydei cups the back of his neck, supporting his head as Anaxa had suggested. But he has no intention of letting Phainon sleep until he has finished, so with his other hand he pinches the underside of Phainon’s thigh, startling him back into awareness.
“Ow…!” Phainon’s face scrunches up. He blinks, with a great amount of difficulty, that expanse of ever-blue sky in his eyes clouded with exhaustion. His voice is a pitiful whine when he says, “Mydei… stop it…”
Mydei pulls him closer, letting him lie against his body. He turns his head to kiss Phainon’s cheek in apology, though only for the pain and not for waking him. “Bear with it, moró mou. You are strong enough to take this.”
Phainon squeezes slightly around him, which is either a response to the endearment or an attempt to punish him for making him endure any more of this.
“…that’s better,” Anaxa says, loftily, as though he’s grading Mydei’s performance.
Mydei huffs out a laugh. He waits until Phainon’s head has settled onto his shoulder securely before he restarts his movement.
He isn’t so gentle this time, intent on providing enough stimulation that it keeps Phainon from unconsciousness. Not quite harsh, but definitely with a little more abandon as he returns his hands to Phainon’s hips and resumes fucking into him, shorter but sharper, quicker, no less deep. The seated position works to his advantage, the pull of the earth making it easy for the head of Mydei’s cock to pound into him on every fall of his body.
Phainon’s eyelashes flutter against the bare skin of his shoulder. He is still being jostled, but hopefully with less pain in his neck from it. His body quivers as Mydei drives his hips up to meet his. The incoherent moan that leaves him pools directly into heat in Mydei’s gut, although it’s unclear whether the sound comes from the fucking or from being denied the ability to fall asleep.
Mydei’s release comes sooner than expected, and his movements slow as he exhales over the sweat-damp back of Phainon’s neck, a pomegranate-ambrosian sort of feeling. Phainon bears with it rather admirably, only twitching a bit around him in response to the spill of warmth and fullness.
Anaxa’s voice puts a premature end to the afterglow. The man can probably read the signs of Mydei’s pleasure better than Phainon can, if for the sole reason of judging him for it.
“I’ve told you not to leave your dirty fluids inside when you’re taking him before me,” he says irritably.
Mydei runs a soothing hand over the small of Phainon’s back. He is languid from satisfaction, still, unaffected. “As if you aren’t eager to do the same whenever you have the opportunity.”
He brings the hand up to the side of Phainon’s face, drawing his head away from his shoulder and tipping it back so that he is within reach. Mydei kisses him, then, long and lingering, slipping his tongue between already-parted, salt-soft lips. Phainon’s own tongue is as slack with fatigue as the rest of him, but the taste of him is still a wine-drunk thing, a chalice of sunlight spilt bittersweetly over the sea. Mydei takes his time to savor it, filling the waiting cavern of that mouth with his own taste and his own heat.
When he is satisfied with the claim he has laid, fingers brushing over the bruising bites he had left on the side of Phainon’s throat just a few quints before this, he draws back and gives him a much gentler kiss: a simple, cherishing touch of lips to lips.
Phainon’s eyes are dazed, drained from the surplus of attention. Mydei lifts him off his lap by the waist, letting his softening cock slide out of him, watching with pleasant warmth as a trickle of his come drips slowly out of that well-used entrance.
Phainon’s head drops in front of his chest again, now that it’s not needed. Sounding wan and somewhat unintelligible, his mouth barely moving, he mumbles, “Now can… I sleep…?”
“Not quite yet.” Mydei sets Phainon back down, propping his open legs over his, and wipes the come away from the inside of his thighs with his thumb, scoops the rest of it out of him with his fingers. Phainon barely reacts, even though at this point he must be feeling at least a little overstimulated. Mydei pushes his fingers into his mouth, slick with come, and for all his exhaustion, after a very long moment, Phainon closes his lips around them and suckles weakly.
“Your professor wants his turn too,” Mydei tells him, satiated and indulgent at the sight of Phainon obeying him even with his head hanging limply. “He’s getting rather impatient.”
“Do not speak for me.”
Mydei is too content to argue with him. He passes Phainon over, wiping his wet fingers on the cloth they have tucked into the side of the carriage and reclining in his seat. Phainon lets himself be collected into Anaxa’s waiting hands without any struggle, like an object being returned to its place of belonging.
“…and clean him up more thoroughly next time,” Anaxa gripes, but he doesn’t even bother checking Mydei’s work, simply drawing Phainon onto his lap and sinking in with a sigh of relief.
“…nn…” Phainon makes a soft, slurred noise as Anaxa bottoms out inside him. It isn’t quite a protest, because that would require some measure of awareness of what was happening. Instead, his voice has returned to more of a whine, more of a childish thing. “Professor… I’m so tired…”
His body slumps shapelessly over Anaxa’s, his head drooping into the crook of his neck where it comes to rest. Anaxa strokes a slender, red-marked hand over the line of his back, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of his head where he can reach.
“Don’t be afraid, Phainon,” he reassures. The carefully cultivated coldness of his attire is as it always is, and so too would be the look in his eyes if he turned to see Mydei watching them the way that Anaxa had watched him. But there it is again, when he cranes that elegant head down to gaze at Phainon curled atop his slighter body like an overgrown puppy: that inescapable tenderness. What binds him the same as it does Mydei, tangles on tangles of red string.
Anaxa traces slowly over the light-drenched bruise in the shape of his fingers on Phainon’s hip. The dromas lumbers on, and so does the moment, and so do their heartbeats.
“I’ll let you rest,” Anaxa says. “I’m not like him.”