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Lately, he hasn’t been sleeping well.
Phainon sighs deeply as he tosses around, struggling to find a comfortable position. He’s never been a great sleeper, but lately it feels like things have been spiralling out of control.
Night after night he wakes up screaming, sweaty, disoriented as to where he is. His heart beats wildly, his head pounds, his body trembling all over. It is as if an unseen presence is looming over him, always waiting, watching.
“Maybe it’s the weather,” Castorice suggests.
It is definitely not the weather. Sure, it’s been hotter than usual, but this isn't the first heatwave he’s suffered through. What gnaws at him is something deeper, an inexplicable anxiety that lingers just out of sight. Every step, every move, it’s as if someone is breathing down his neck.
“Could it be that your responsibilities are weighing you down?”
Not that Hyacine doesn’t have a point, of course the burden that he carries is no small matter, but surely the answer can’t be that simple. Phainon has always donned the mask of the perfect hero, navigating all the negativity that came his way. Being the Deliverer wasn’t easy, but it had never been this exhausting before.
“You’re overthinking it.”
Maybe he’s right. Mydei’s always been a voice of reason. Phainon has let his doubts consume him, fixating on all that he cannot control. Even at night, his mind races, leaving him restless and unable to sleep.
“I can help you unwind.” Mydei offers.
Phainon doesn’t know why he says “no”. He loves Mydei, they’ve been spending a lot of time together, but he doesn’t want to burden him. A good session of fucking could have helped, could have exhausted him enough to let him fall asleep. It’s been far too long and heat unfurls in his gut at the thought of Mydei’s touch.
What a tragedy
Phainon lies in his bed, eyes wide, staring up at the ceiling. Sleep has eluded him for days and it’s starting to affect his performance. What a sorry sight it would be— the Deliverer brought down not by a titankin, but rather from tumbling off a cliff.
“Have you considered meditation?”
He has not, but Tribbie was insistent that he tries. It sounds to him like some unusual dish, but in practice it doesn’t seem all that complicated. A simple method of practicing mindfulness, involving relaxation and deep breaths.
“Counting helps.”
He may as well try. What harm could possibly come out of it?
Phainon pushes the covers away, tosses his pillow aside and lies flat on his back. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and starts counting quietly to himself.
One, two, three
The dull pressure at the back of his mind persists.
Four, five, six
So he continues counting.
Mydei could have helped him out. Sex seems way easier than meditation.
Seven, eight, nine, ten
He should have at least jerked off.
Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen— one hundred, one hundred and one, one hundred and two…
At last, he feels a sense of relief washing over his tired mind. Maybe this technique is working after all, he should have tried it ages ago.
One hundred and three, one hundred and four
He wonders what Mydei might be doing?
One hundred and five, one hundred and six
He floats in the tranquility of his own mind.
One hundred and… something
He might not be asleep right now, but at least his thoughts have settled. In the vast expanses of his mind, nothing but darkness surrounds him. Only here, in this empty space, he can finally let himself drift towards slumber—
Sixteen
Fourteen
Sixteen
Something
He’s dozing off when a sharp jolt of pain shoots through him. Instantly paralysed, he can’t move a muscle, while his mind snaps back to full awareness.
What is happening?
His breath comes in quick, sharp bursts, an unsettling tingling spreading across his skin. As if there’s a swarm of ants racing across it, leaving sharp, painful jabs. The sensation grows, building in force, until it becomes nearly intolerable. As though there’s a blaze underneath his skin, as if he’s being lit up from within.
Phainon tries to move but he’s caught in stupor, every muscle locked with tension. He’s shivering with cold, yet a burning fever radiates through him, scorching his skin. Phainon gasps, the pain crashing over, his lips parting in a voiceless cry.
What is happening? What is this feeling?
His entire body seems to be changing.
Wait. No
Something’s wrong. Someone wake him from this nightmare.
Mydei!
Another jolt reverberates through him, shaking him to his very core. His skin cracks; wings sprout from his back; his body burns with unbearable heat. Tears evaporate before they can fall, his screams dying on his parted lips.
Then, just as abruptly, it all ceases, and Phainon finds himself wide awake. He pushes himself up, slumping forward, any resemblance of strength having left his limbs.
What was that? What just happened?
His mind reels, trying to make sense of this dream.
Something warm touches his skin and Phainon jolts from the burning sensation. Long fingers lift his chin up and he stares at the imposing figure in front of him. It appears to be blurry and obscured, except for the eyes peering down at him.
Is this still a dream?
“What… what are you?”
Is that pity he sees in those golden orbs? Hatred? Curiosity? Or something else entirely?
“Who are you?” His voice falters.
There is no answer, only the ominous presence lingers at the back of his mind. The hand under his chin glides down to his neck, fingers tracing the sun marking.
“You bear my mark”
Phainon startles at the voice, like a whisper in his ear, a titan’s murmur. Someone is speaking inside his mind, taking over every cell of him.
“What do you want from me?”
Is this a dream? It must be. How else could he have ended up here? His fevered mind conjures strange images, too restless and overtaxed to find peace.
The hand moves lower, trailing across his exposed chest and towards his abs. Only now does Phainon notice the cracks running over his skin: dark, threatening fissures, like void that leaves nothing behind.
“I will fill you up”
Phainon lets out a sharp laugh. Fill him up? What does that even mean?
“Don’t bother, there’s nothing to fill. I don’t have any love for myself.”
The apparition doesn’t answer and Phainon scoffs, averting his gaze. His body feels too heavy for him, like an empty shell devoid of life.
“I will make you whole again”
Phainon pales at those words. What a baffling thing to say, nothing here makes any sense. Just his luck, he muses to himself, when he needs sleep the most, his mind spins such nonsense.
Maybe it’s time to wake up, relieve some tension, then try to sleep.
Phainon shakes his head, pinches himself, squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them. No matter what he does, nothing changes, the imposing figure remaining in front of him.
“Oh Kephale, lend me your strength,” Phainon murmurs, raising his hand. His heart races as his fingers reach out toward the apparition, making contact. The instant he touches it, he recoils, the sensation like fire against his skin.
What is this entity, really? And what could it possibly want from him?
“I just wanted to rest,” Phainon sighs, looking back down at the ground. Maybe if he pretends he’s asleep, maybe if he just keeps counting…
One, two three—
He startles at the sensation of warmth gliding over his skin. It lingers at his belly, then his hips before flowing lower, in-between his legs. The touch is slow, sensual, as if revering every inch of him.
The warmth forms into a large hand, pausing at his inners thigh. A thumb traces slow circles on his skin, leaving a burning impression behind. A quiet gasp escapes Phainon’s lips as the fingers drift higher up. They press, painfully, into his flesh, leaving deep marks behind.
“Stop!”
With a yelp, he is yanked upside down, left dangling helplessly in the air.
“Let me down!” Phainon hisses, reaching out to grab the offending appendage. It appears detached from its owner, as if acting with a will of its own. Phainon shouldn’t be too surprised, this is a dream, after all.
He inhales sharply as something wet and warm brushes against his ankle. Straining to see, he freezes when he notices a dark, slick vine creeping close. It climbs up his body— from his ankle to his knee, winding around his calf, then sliding up his thigh. The vine coils around his taut waist, circling it like an overgrown python.
Phainon swallows hard.
It pulls him into a tight embrace, manhandling him as if he weighs nothing. Phainon knew he was frustrated, but not that he was this pent-up. He will just have to ask Mydei to spend the night once he wakes up. No, he will drag Mydei straight to the baths and ride him harder than ever before.
“Deliverer”
Phainon’s head snaps up at the sound of the apparition’s voice. It presses heavily on his mind, making him hiss out in pain.
A few more vines crawl up his sides, slithering up and down his body. They wrap around his thighs and arms, rearranging him as they see fit. They are everywhere now, thick and unyielding, making Phainon shiver in anticipation.
No, wait. It’s disgust. Of course he does not find this hot.
He huffs as the vines reposition him, like a puppet jerked gracelessly by invisible strings. Two strong tendrils coil around his arms, binding them tightly behind his back.
The intentions of these things are clear, and Phainon isn't sure what to think. Being rendered helpless shouldn't be this arousing, so why is his cock rock hard?
Another vine probes at his lips, demanding entrench where it doesn’t belong. He hasn’t even gone this far with Mydei; there is no way he will let this thing inside. But the vine forces its way past his lips and straight into his unprepared throat. He gags, eyes wide with disbelief, muscles constricting around its girth. The vine slides down his esophagus, making Phainon retch in disgust. It doesn't stop, just burrows deeper, slithering down as far as it can go.
Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes as panic sets in, making him sob. Phainon fears it will reach his stomach and make a home inside of him. He tries to fight, but he can’t move, his body rendered utterly helpless.
His legs are lifted higher up, presented to the apparition’s gaze. The large hands slide up and down his skin, stopping at his knees and forcing them apart.
From the corner of his eyes Phainon can see a nimble tendril crawling up his body. It coils around his hard cock, stroking it slowly and slicking it up. He hates to admit it but it feels good, his face flushed red with shame and mortification.
Is this truly just a dream? Then why does it all feel so real?
A violent shudder runs through him at the thought. No, of course, this is just his imagination. To be restrained like this in reality— to be rendered completely helpless under Mydei’s hands…
Phainon swallows hard around the vine, trying to chase such thoughts away. Why would Mydei want to see him like that, so eager and willing to submit to his will? Mydei considers him an equal, of course he would find such display disappointing.
With wary eyes Phainon watches a thin, slimy tendril wind its way up his cock. It pauses at the very tip, then plunges inside without ceremony. Phainon screams, yet no sound comes out, never before has he felt such pressure.
The vine lodged deep in his throat quivers, releasing a slick, viscous liquid. Phainon’s thoughts blur as it fills him, his senses stretched to the very edge. The warm fluid seems to dull his mind and he lets out a whine, struggling not to fall asleep.
Despite his muddled, incoherent mind, his cock is harder than ever before. Clear, thin slick leaks from where the tendril has embedded itself in his length. There is no real pain, only a mounting pressure, that keeps intensifying with every second.
Phainon shifts in his restraints, tugging at the vines binding his arms. He whimpers as the strange liquid coursing through his veins sets his entire body ablaze. It must be some kind of aphrodisiac, as arousal starts surging uncontrollably within him. He needs something, anything, to happen; he needs to release this mounting pressure.
Please
He doesn’t know what he’s asking for, or whom he’s pleading with in this moment. If only Mydei were here… Phainon sighs, his thoughts drifting to his time with his lover.
Mydei prefers to take things slow, savoring the way Phainon unravels beneath his touch. An unspoken dynamic exists between them, but Phainon is all too willing to submit. Still, he worries that Mydei might not appreciate such eagerness to surrender. So he resists, striving to prove himself worthy, to secure his place at the prince’s side. Yet if Mydei wished to dismantle him, Phainon would yield every single time. He will give Mydei all of himself, he will break willingly in those strong arms.
Something wet nudges against his entrance, making Phainon clench involuntarily. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to imagine Mydei’s fingers instead of those things.
Mydei always starts with one, pushing into him gently and probing. Instead, a slick vine wiggles its way inside, quickly followed by another. Phainon’s cheeks burn hot with shame as he adjusts to the stretch almost immediately. He and Mydei fuck quite often, he rarely needs much preparation. Yet he always enjoys those moments, the intimacy and the tenderness that they bring.
The vines delve deeper, coiling and caressing all of Phainon’s most sensitive spots. He hates to admit how good it feels, how much he aches for something thicker. A moan slips past his parted lips as a third vine joins the two inside. This is bad, he’s so turned on, he doesn’t think he can last much longer. Yet with a tendril lodged inside his cock, there’s no release for him to be found.
Phainon huffs, his lips stretched wide as he tries to speak around the obstruction. He knows the apparition watching must be controlling these shameless things.
“Mmmmph!” He lets out a high-pitched scream as something big presses at his entrance. His gaze drops, and he sees a vine as thick as his wrist starting to wiggle inside. Tears of frustration slip from his eyes as his body struggles to adjust to the girth. Why is it suddenly being so rough? What exactly did he do wrong?
Together, the vines begin to move, stretching his passage even wider. Instinctively, Phainon wants to close his thighs, but the fingers digging into his flesh keep them apart. In silent desperation, he lifts his eyes, staring at the blurry figure.
Please
Please, he needs relief. The pressure within him keeps mounting. It’s too much, to the point of unbearable, he longs for release but is denied any.
Please please, let me come
The vines work within him unrelenting, preparing him for what’s to come next. They do not press against his prostate, always gliding right past it.
Sadist
Phainon is panting now, his mind on the verge of breaking down. The stimulation isn’t nearly enough, and even if it were, there’s nowhere for it to go. Wave of frustration surges within him, mingling with his concealed rage. He bites down on the vine in his throat, and it releases more of its thick liquid. He moans in pain as it fills his stomach, making him feel as though he’s about to burst. He’s so full he can’t think, overwhelmed from both ends.
Phainon closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to reason with himself.
This is nothing but a dream, a twisted one, but still just a dream. There’s no need to get this excited over the strange things that his mind invents. He should think of Aglaea scolding him, or of Anaxa in those dromas pyjamas. There’s nothing sexy about a pair of pyjamas, even if the professor is starting to look mighty fine—
Fuck
Phainon’s eyes fly open. Where is his mind taking him? He needs to focus on how to wake up, not on how to fuck his professor. He needs to get out of these restraints, he needs to—
The larger vine slips out of him.
Phainon exhales in relief, some of the pressure easing up. He is still aroused beyond belief, but at least, for now, he doesn’t feel like combusting.
His resting period is short-lived.
Hands grip his thighs, pulling him forward, and positioning his body so he is vulnerably exposed. Phainon shudders as cool air brushes against his stretched hole. His hands are secured behind his back, his lips still wrapped around the vine in his throat. He’s completely at the apparition’s mercy, with no idea what’s yet to come.
Phainon squeezes his eyes shut, choosing to imagine Mydei instead. How he loves to bend him in half, pressing inside of him torturously slow…
The intrusion does not come as a surprise, but it’s far more intense than anything he’s experienced before. Mydei is not a small man, yet the length filling him is inhumanly large. Phainon’s now grateful for the slick vines that did such a great job of preparing him.
The thick cock presses deeper, inch by agonising inch. It sinks into him with patience that could only rival that of a god. Phainon sobs as he’s stuffed full, his body molding to the girth. How can he possibly take all of this? How can his body be capable of such a feat?
Ah, a dream
That must be it.
Still, this is way way too much.
Phainon’s mind is halfway gone, his eyes rolling back as his senses blur. It doesn’t stop, it keeps on going, he’s so full he feels sick with it. His mind is hovering on the edge of blackout, yet he stubbornly refuses to let go.
After what feels like an eternity, the thick length finally settles inside. It presses heavily against his prostate, the bundle of nerves growing numb from the pressure. His entire body is on fire, stretched far beyond its limits. He tries to relax, but it’s impossible amid such overwhelming sensation.
I may just die
It begins to move, Phainon’s nostrils flare, his head falling back unsupported. The vine in his throat shifts, dragging itself partway out before sliding back in. His eyes widen in shock as his throat is relentlessly stretched, fucked open. Meanwhile, the tendril inside his cock stirs as well, slithering in and out.
It’s too much, far too much, yet he can barely move in protest. Pleasure burns through his body, making him drown in its grasp.
Please, please, please
This is torture, and yet for some reason he wants more.
The length inside him draws back, then drives forward with unyielding force. The intensity makes Phainon sob, shaking him to his very core.
Again and again, the length slams inside, tormenting his wet, trembling opening. Phainon's breath comes in ragged gasps, tears streaming down his wet cheeks. He aches for release, desperate to reach the peak, yet satisfaction remains just out of reach.
”Submit”
Oh, he will submit, surrender himself to this delicious torture. Every fibre of him is overwhelmed; resisting now would be utterly pointless.
Phainon takes a deep breath, allowing himself to relax and feel: the stretch at his rim pushed to its absolute limit, the length pressing against every sensitive spot, his throat filled by the thick vine, fingers digging into his skin...
Phainon loses his sense of self, drifting in and out of his mind. Minutes, hours, perhaps an eternity pass, but he can no longer tell the time.
At last, the relentless motion ceases. Phainon looks up, eyes silently pleading for mercy. He’s already filled beyond his limits, beyond anything he believed he could endure.
He becomes aware of a warm liquid flooding into him in copious amounts. The apparition is releasing itself, with nowhere else for it all to go. Heat pools deep inside of him, settling in his gut, swelling his stomach. There’s so much that his abdomen bulges, straining to make room for more. He feels as though he might burst apart, unraveling at the very seams.
At last, it comes to an end, the length inside of him withdrawing. Phainon collapses in his restraints, trembling from the overwhelming pressure.
He lacks the strength even to beg, and what would be the point of it? No one will come to his rescue, and deep down, he knows he doesn’t deserve to be saved.
Use me fuck me fill me more
Phainon lets out a sharp gasp as two thick vines force their way inside. He whimpers, confusion clouding his thoughts. Is it truly not over yet? How desperate is he, really, to keep dreaming of such terrible things?
He lifts his eyes, meeting the gaze of the figure still shrouded in mist. He cries out as the vines begin to move, thrusting into him with deep, violent force. His cock twitches within its confines, leaking with every powerful drive.
Phainon squeezes his eyes shut.
Can he really imagine it? Can he really think of Mydei this way?
His Mydei, suddenly larger than life, plunging into him, filling him up. Whispering things in his ear, making him bend to his will.
He wants it. He wants it so much, he feels tears once again prickle his eyes.
The vines unravel and Phainon falls, landing hard on the ground moments later. Phainon chokes, taking deep breaths as he tries to regain his senses. He flexes his arms, sore and aching, and brings one hand to his throat. It feels raw, and he has a hard time forming any coherent words. With his other hand, he reaches down to his cock, wrapping his fingers around his length. It aches from the overstimulation, yet he tugs on it hard anyway.
There is only one thought on his mind: he needs release, and he needs it fast.
He gives himself a few rough tugs, whimpering as he teeters on the edge. Just a little more, and he’ll topple over, finally surrendering to that sweet sensation.
“No!” he screams, his voice cracking as large hands seize his arms again. They wrench them backward, folding them, and Phainon thrashes against his restraints.
“No! Please! Let me come!”
He’s slammed face-first into the ground, his hips lifted up by some vines. They coil tightly around his thighs, holding him open and ready for taking. Phainon doesn’t care anymore as long as he gets to come as well.
“Ghh—!” A guttural sound is torn from him as his cock is plugged up once again. Tears of frustration stream down his face, his head snapping back in anger.
“Why do you hate me so much?” He yells, blurred eyes shooting daggers.
His answer comes in the form of the creature’s massive cock thrusting into him once more.
“Ugh.” A low groan escapes his lips as his head lolls limply to the side. Although Phainon tries to steady himself, his thoughts remain tangled in the haze of subspace.
Perhaps this isn’t so bad after all. Maybe this is what he deserves— to be held open indefinitely, used, untethered from time or place. Perhaps he doesn’t want to finish; perhaps he doesn’t want this to end. His body is drawn taut as wire, ready yet unable to snap.
He is taken roughly once more, his hole yielding, unable to close. Cum and fluids leak from him as the thick length drives in and out. Phainon feels so thoroughly used he doubts he’ll ever walk again.
The tendril within his cock burrows deeper, forcing a gasp from his lips. It’s sunk in so far now, it feels inseparable from his body.
“Please,” he whimpers to himself, unsure whom he’s pleading to. He’s pulled upright, his knees forced apart, still impaled on that thick cock. From this angle, he can see his swollen belly shift with each hard thrust. He watches his weeping cock bob indignantly, watches the length stretching him wide.
It makes his head spin.
How much more can he endure? How much longer will this last?
A sudden gush of warmth fills him up, thick liquid dripping out. The length withdraws, but he is immediately plugged again by one of the vines.
Phainon shifts uncomfortably but wordlessly accepts his punishment. Should he try to pleasure himself even with the tendril lodged deep within his cock?
He tugs at it, the sensitivity of his abused length making his hands tremble. It won’t budge, no matter what he does, and a sob tears itself from his lungs. He needs release more than he needs to breathe, every nerve in his body aflame.
The vine inside him coils, rolls, and pulses, Phainon shudders in response. His confused mind reels as two tendrils force his arms behind his back. Is he being restrained again? Is he going to be used once more?
But he is already... he is too full. How can he possibly take any more?
His body is arched upward, legs spread wide and exposed to the apparition’s gaze. Phainon does no longer care. It doesn’t matter what it does to him. He just needs to find release, to reveal this pressure inside of him.
The thick vine inside him slithers out, his hole desperately clenching around nothing. Suddenly, being empty feels even more uncomfortable than being full.
It must be the effect of aphrodisiacs. But how would that even work in a dream?Phainon sighs, what does it matter? He’s long ago given up trying to figure things out.
His hole drips, empty and inviting, begging to be filled once more.
“No,” he whispers as he feels a vine press against his closed lips. Yet this time, he opens them willingly, suckling on the slimy appendage. It tastes salty, but not unpleasant, so he inhales deeply and lets his jaw fall open. He welcomes the familiar stretch as the vine slides into his abused mouth. It moves deep again, down his throat, settling within him like a calming presence. It releases more of the aphrodisiac, and Phainon accepts it without a complaint.
What are you waiting for?
His eyes drift lazily over to the figure. If only he could see it clearly—
Coward
The apparition moves and shifts. Phainon watches with weary eyes as it rapidly shrinks, growing smaller. Until, at last, it slips free from the fog, standing in front of him tall and proud.
Mydei?
But how?
Well, it is a dream…
A shudder of desire runs through Phainon, his body trembles with anticipation. Like an animal in heat, he clenches involuntarily at the sight of his lover— those strong hands, that broad chest, those golden eyes...
Phainon freezes.
The eyes. Something’s wrong.
It’s Mydei and yet, somehow, it isn’t. He feels larger, more than just his normal self, and Phainon’s stomach twists in fear. Why would his mind conjure someone else wearing Mydei’s beautiful face?
Questions swirl in his mind, still his body responds to his lover’s touch. When skin brushes skin, he surges forward, surrendering beneath that burning gaze.
It is not love or adoration that he finds there, but anger, infatuation, and pure, raw hunger.
Mydei grabs the vine stretching Phainon’s mouth, squeezing it tightly until it cracks. The thing jolts, shudders, and retreats abruptly, making Phainon gasp as it withdraws. He inhales deeply before his mouth is captured in a bruising kiss. Strong hands hold his head, taking from him everything he has to offer. The remaining vines uncoil and slither away, as if frightened by this new power.
Mydei pulls back and gazes at him, one hand tangled in Phainon’s hair.
“And this is how I find you?”
He tugs sharply and Phainon jolts, his battered body responding with a sharp flare. He wants this, needs this, and he doesn’t care if Mydei thinks him pathetic. If dreaming of it is the only way, he’ll accept it and pretend that it’s real. This entire dream has been too strange; his mind is completely jumbled up.
Mydei’s fingers splay over his chest, pinching one of his nipples roughly. Phainon opens his mouth to protest but two large fingers are shoved inside. He glares at Mydei who meets his gaze, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk.
It’s something Phainon hasn’t seen before, there’s something impossibly hot about that expression. Yet he has no time to dwell on it as he feels Mydei’s length pressing against his entrance. It’s large, engorged, stretching him wide, why does his mind conjures up all these massive cocks?
“Fuck,” he moans around Mydei’s fingers, thighs already trembling in anticipation. His hair spills around his face like a crown, strands sticking to his damp skin. It feels good to let go for once, to surrender completely to Mydei’s will. No responsibilities, no expectations, just someone else in control of him. He can’t even decide his own orgasm, and perhaps that’s the beauty of it.
“Mine.”
Mydei thrusts inside of him, setting a punishing rhythm. Phainon cries out with every movement, shivers running down his spine. The sensation is so deep and fulfilling, he marvels at the anatomical impossibility of their coupling. Yet, his body is not quite his own, after all he doesn't normally have a pair of wings.
Phainon shudders. It feels as if Mydei is carving out a space within him. He fucks him as though that is his sole purpose, his only reason for existing. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over, leaving Phainon gasping for air. All he can do is cling to his lover, his nails leaving red marks on his back.
His entrance is loose, his inner walls bruised as Mydei relentlessly thrusts into him. Waves of pleasure leave Phainon drooling, saliva slipping from the corners of his mouth. He’s never been taken so hard before; his mind is already halfway gone.
“Don’t let anyone else touch you.”
With another forceful thrust, Mydei halts, grabbing Phainon’s neck. He pulls him back against his chest, hooking his legs over his arms. Lifting him effortlessly, Mydei forces Phainon to watch, helpless, as he is taken. Mydei's cock finds his overstimulated entrance, slamming inside once again.
“W-wait—”
Phainon whimpers, yet is granted no respite. He blindly grabs at Mydei’s arms. His cock is so achingly hard, he thinks he might lose his mind. It presses insistently against his stomach, leaking copious amounts of pre-cum. Tears stream freely down his cheeks, his mind consumed by a singular, desperate want.
“Please, I need to—” he begs, voice cracking, as he reaches for his own length.
Mydei slaps his hand away, spearing into him with vigour. Then he stops, buried deep inside, and takes Phainon in his large palm. Wrapping his hand firmly around the base, he squeezes so tightly that Phainon cries out.
“Wait!”
Even Mydei, his beloved, will not granting him this sweet release.
“Why, why, why—” Phainon wails as he’s rearranged yet again. Mydei pushes him down onto his knees, ass raised high in the air. One of his hands grips his hip while the other remains firmly on his cock. He drives into Phainon hard, making him scramble to steady himself.
Phainon tries to support himself on his trembling arms but they soon give out. He collapses, face pressed to the ground, his body burning as Mydei keeps pounding him. A puddle of drool gathers at his mouth, tears and saliva mixing together. He no longer knows what he needs, or even what his own name is.
All he knows is that he’s being fucked to within an inch of his life.
“Fill me, please, fill me up. Make me only yours, Mydei.”
He whimpers weakly, his body jolting with every new push inside his ass. Time slips from his grasp and he floats, it could be minutes, could be hours. His insides burn and flutter around the relentless force battering his sensitive walls. He’s stuffed so full of slick and cum that it spills from him with each powerful thrust.
He’s overflowing, yet the cock inside of him seems determined to carve out even more space. Phainon gasps when a hand grabs his hair, yanking, forcing him to arch his back.
He fumbles for something to hold onto, but nothing is within reach. His thighs burn, struggling to support his weight as he’s impaled on the other’s cock. Mydei seizes his jaw, turns his head, and fixes him with a fiery gaze.
“Don’t forget who you belong to,” he hisses, crushing their lips together. He drives into Phainon hard and then stills, locking their bodies together as one. Phainon feels the warm seed fill him, his stomach growing even fuller. The strange sensation wrenches a sob from his lips, and he surrenders himself to Mydei completely.
“I’m yours. Only yours,” he cries out, gazing up at his lover.
“Please let me come,” he begs, voice trembling, his own hands desperate to touch. And yet he doesn’t dare to try, he is utterly at his lover’s mercy.
One of Mydei’s hands grips his cock, while the other closes around his neck. He squeezes, restricting just enough air to make black spots dance before Phainon’s eyes. Phainon’s chest heaves as he gasps, desperate and impaled on the other’s cock.
Yours. Only yours. Always yours
His eyes roll to the back oh his skull.
Mydei lets him fall back down, stroking hard and fast a couple of times. Phainon screams as he comes, his body trembling all over. Thick streaks of white spill onto the ground, forming a puddle beneath his knees.
He collapses into Mydei’s arms, boneless and utterly spent. He tries to speak, to cling to consciousness, but feels it slipping from his grasp.
“Rest.”
And Phainon does, feeling safe in Mydei’s embrace. He lets his eyelids droop closed, mind sinking into blackness.
—
Phainon wakes up with a start, eyes wide, chest heaving. Sweat soaks his overheated skin, goosebumps prickling along his arms.
What an unusually vivid dream, he can’t recall ever experiencing anything quite like it. Maybe it’s the weather or stress or frustration, or perhaps all of it combined.
He throws off the covers and gets up, desperate for a glass of water. Something wet slides out of him and he swallows, directing his gaze downward. He watches white liquid trickle down his legs, forming a small puddle on the floor.
Phainon stares at it in stunned silence, his throat parched and raw from misuse. His hole, stretched and overworked, refuses to close anymore. Every muscle in his body aches, his hair and face sticky with drying cum.
He stands there, mind blank, yet acutely aware.
Maybe that wasn’t just a dream…