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"Hi. I had a fight with Trina. A bad one. I'm coming over."
That’s all Marvin says on the phone before the sound of a moving car and the beep signaling the end of the call.
It’s late; Whizzer got home from work and finished dinner ages ago. Marvin didn't ask for permission. He’s just coming to Whizzer’s place.
Even though Marvin has never been this direct, bordering on rude, Whizzer isn't all that surprised. He sort of expected something like this from the grumpy, controlling man who seemed not to understand the meaning of "casual sex."
It doesn't take long for Whizzer to hear knocking at the door. He must have driven really fast. He must be angry.
Which is a drag, because he’s not in the mood to babysit a grown man grumbling about the consequences of his own actions. He has no patience for listening to endless complaints about how Marvin is wronged and how no one understands him.
But the moment he turns the doorknob, he isn't met with noise, angry words, or anything of the sort.
Marvin hugs him.
Well, "hug" isn't quite the right word. He throws himself into Whizzer's arms, letting all his weight fall to him. Whizzer worries he might have passed out.
"Marvin! What the hell? Have you been drinking?"
"Hmph." Marvin grumbles, confirming that he didn't faint, though he continues sprawling on top of Whizzer, "No. But I'd love to."
Whizzer believes him because he doesn't smell of alcohol, nor is he flushed. His eyes aren't clouded the way they always are when he’s been drinking.
Even when he tries to pull away from the embrace, it takes a moment for Marvin to finally let go. He balances on both feet (he really was putting all his weight on Whizzer!) and only then does he let go.
"What do you want?"
"A glass of water. Please."
He scoffs at Marvin treating him like a servant, but given the tender moment, Whizzer lets it slide. Marvin sits on the sofa and starts massaging his temples, as if that might magically relieve the stress. His legs are trembling, the way they always do when he’s anxious.
Whizzer sits down next to him. He rests a hand on Marvin’s shoulder, offering comfort without being intrusive, while Marvin drinks his water.
"Trina asked for sex. I didn't want to. She started whining that I don't care about her anymore and never want to have sex with her."
"Which is true," Whizzer adds mentally. He doesn't have a particularly strong moral compass and doesn't want to play shrink right now, but he thinks Marvin needs to start taking responsibility for his actions and calling things what they are.
"I think I lost my temper a bit and said more than I meant to. She did too. Things escalated, and I said I was going to spend the night away."
"Hmm..." he murmurs, setting the glass on the side table. Not that he cares all that much about Marvin's married life, but hell, it doesn't hurt to listen. Whizzer opens his arms, and Marvin snuggles in.
Looking closely, he sees Marvin is wearing pajama bottoms and a rumpled sweatshirt. They should have already been heading to bed when it all happened. He must have been furious to leave the comfort of his home—instead of just, I don't know, sleeping on the couch.
They spend a while like that, the smaller man cradled in his arms, his breathing growing more relaxed. He doesn't look sleepy, but he's definitely calmer. He gazes at Whizzer with as much love and tenderness as a high school girl looking at the boy she likes.
"Better?"
"A lot. I needed you."
"Hmm."
Marvin leans in to kiss Whizzer's chin, then his lips. He’s almost shy, almost gentle. The same man who was probably seething with rage just minutes ago.
"I love you."
Whizzer scoffs. "Don't say that..."
"I want you to fuck me."
Oh.
Oh.
Whizzer must have misheard.
This had never been discussed as a real possibility. Marvin was the top; Whizzer was the bottom. That was plain as day. Sure, he might have made a few jokes about the other guy’s ass looking tasty and what a waste it was not to take advantage of it, but he’d only ever gotten cussed out and the middle finger in response (playfully or angrily, depending on the day).
But today is different. Marvin needs to feel Whizzer. He needs to forget his reality at home. He needs a bit of adrenaline—even pain—to clear his head. Hearing orders, being bossed around, tossed from one side to the other, and even he himself doesn't quite understand this feeling.
And this is the way to satisfy all of that. Doing what he’d never considered an option: asking Whizzer to guide him into uncharted territory.
But Whizzer doesn't know all of that explanation. He just thinks Marvin must have had a lobotomy or something.
Still, he’s not crazy enough to say no.
"Are you sure? You never even seemed interested."
"I’m not absolutely certain. But I want to try."
"You can always change your mind along the way, you know that."
"I know."
Marvin holds Whizzer’s face, hesitant, and then kisses him. By their standards, it’s quite slow and almost shy, but Marvin is still building up his confidence. His hands feel cold against Whizzer’s skin—perhaps from having just been outside, or perhaps from anxiety. His lips are a bit dry and chapped, while Whizzer’s are moisturized from the cocoa butter he always uses.
Their mouths part to let their tongues meet, and then things intensify. Whizzer grips Marvin’s waist, while his other hand explores the bare skin of his stomach.
They pull apart to catch their breath. Their blue eyes look needy, desperate, hungry.
Whizzer quickly takes off his shirt, with Marvin helping him. In response, Marvin tears off his own sweatshirt and tosses it onto the living room floor. His pajama top gets tangled up and ends up discarded right along with it. Whizzer wastes no time caressing and feeling every inch of skin.
"Is this okay?"
"It's okay," Marvin gasps. "I want you so much."
Their mouths crash together again; bare chest against bare chest. Taking him by surprise, a hand pulls Whizzer's hair and he groans into his mouth.
"I love you," Marvin says, and Whizzer—as usual—doesn't reply.
"I'm going to get the lube," he says, bluntly sidestepping the declaration.
He grabs a bottle that’s running low (he needs to remember to buy more later) and an anal plug. He never thought this day would come, but here they are.
"Whizzer..." Marvin’s voice echoes through the room, sounding almost shaky. Whizzer doesn't know why. "Where are you...?"
"I'm coming."
When he returns, Marvin looks broken. Destroyed, fragile, with a face like a stray dog. Even though he’d said where he was going and hadn’t been gone more than half a minute. He hugs him, worried he might have had second thoughts. The hug is welcomed.
Neither of them knows it, but it’s the hormones. Endorphin and adrenaline levels are plummeting from his body out of nowhere, making him feel weepy.
"What’s wrong?"
"I didn't like you leaving. I felt lonely."
"Don't worry, I'm here."
Their lips meet once more, slow and tender. Reassuring.
"I don't know what came over me."
"Feeling better?"
"Yeah."
"Want to keep going?"
"Definitely."
Whizzer guides him to lie down on the sofa—large enough to comfortably accommodate a grown man. Without even needing to be said, Marvin raises his legs toward his chest. He has no experience being the bottom, but he isn't stupid, either.
"Good," Whizzer murmurs, almost unconsciously. Marvin breathes heavily in anticipation.
He doesn't stop Whizzer when he grabs the waistband of his trousers; he even lifts his hips to help slide them off, followed quickly by his underwear. And then the man is stark naked, sprawled on the sofa, his cock hard with a small bead of pre-cum trickling out.
"Have you touched yourself there yet?"
"I tried once, in the shower. Put a finger in to see what it was like. But it didn't work out."
Whizzer smears two fingers of lubricant. He waits a moment for his body heat to warm the liquid before pressing his index finger against the perineum. It's terribly cramped and hot, as expected, but he needs to relax if they want to continue.
"It won't be fun for anyone if you stay tensed up." "Take a deep breath."
And he obeys, though things don't improve much. Whizzer manages to slide his finger all the way in, making Marvin part his lips. But it’s when he pulls back that a sound finally escapes. It doesn't sound like pleasure, nor pain, but it is a sound.
"How does it feel?"
"Weird... like I've got diarrhea..."
"Sexy," Whizzer teases, earning an eye-roll in response. "Relax, you're not going to shit yourself."
I mean, the odds are never zero. It’s perfectly possible for that to happen, but Marvin doesn't need to know that right now.
"Can I keep going?"
"Yeah."
He sets a slow, gentle rhythm to get him used to the sensation. Once the initial tension has eased, he goes looking for the prostate. As soon as he finds that spongy spot, Marvin’s body jerks and he lets out a little mewl.
"What was that?"
"Your prostate. Now the fun part starts."
He presses his finger against that same spot again—and again, and again. Marvin’s legs tremble and he moans. A real moan, before he claps a hand over his mouth. But Whizzer is determined now, knowing exactly where to touch.
"Talk to me. How does it feel?"
"Weird. It's different. Good." He murmurs between ragged breaths. Poor guy looks like he’s run a marathon.
"I'm going to add another one."
Marvin nods, giving his consent. The second finger goes in with some difficulty; Whizzer is careful and moves very slowly—especially since Marvin complains and asks for a moment to adjust—but eventually, he allows a third.
It’s a slow process, buIt’s something Whizzer likes. Having control over Marvin, knowing he’s handing over power on a silver platter.
Usually, sex between them feels like a fight. It’s like two males battling for territory. There is no intention to actually hurt (most of the time), but they bite, scratch, demand, pull, and push each other to assert dominance.
Power is never willingly surrendered. It’s never a slow process; no one asks for anything, and no one just lies languidly on the couch—the way Marvin is doing right now.
It gives Whizzer a... curious feeling. A morbid satisfaction that runs through his gut. A sudden urge to see just how much Marvin can take—to turn him inside out and then flip him over again.
"I got an anal plug for you. It'll help loosen you up. It's not very big, what do you think?"
Marvin is completely breathless. "I want it."
It’s incredibly satisfying to watch him accept the toy. It really isn’t too big; it’s simple and made of a comfortable material. It’s not some half-meter-long tentacle with thirty vibration settings or anything like that. It’s nothing he isn’t already used to seeing.
"Whizz..." He calls out in a hoarse voice, and Whizzer fears becoming addicted to that damn sound. "I want to suck your dick with this."
Okay. Whizzer is officially in heaven. If this is a dream, don’t wake him up.
He settles onto the couch, and Marvin sits on the floor (with a small cushion for his knees). It’s not his first time, but he’s still pretty inexperienced. Cut him some slack; he only discovered he liked guys in his thirties.
Whizzer’s pants and underwear end up in a heap on the floor. His cock is dripping, much like his partner’s. Marvin licks slowly, savoring the taste, the smell, and the texture. He isn't bold enough to take it all the way into his mouth, nor does he try to go very deep; instead, he focuses on sucking motions and a bit of up-and-down movement. He stays within his comfort zone—after all, there are already too many new things happening for a single night.
He pulls away (unfortunately), but moves on to licking and sucking the testicles (fortunately). His nose presses against the pubic hair, and he sighs, as if he’s just caught the scent of the most exquisite perfume.
"Can I touch myself, Whizz?"
Whizzer shudders. Why is he asking permission to touch his own body? That isn't like the usual grumpy man.
He even thinks it's some kind of joke, but the poor guy is panting like crazy with his throbbing erection, but with his hands pressed against his own thighs.
"No," Whizzer commands, just to see what happens. "You can't."
He grips the sofa, perhaps to resist the temptation. He simply obeys.
Marvin returns his mouth to Whizzer's penis. He is a dedicated lover; even without much experience, he makes up for it with enthusiasm.
It’s too much.
"Stop, or I’m going to cum. Do you still want me to fuck you?"
His mouth doesn't stop immediately. It slows down, sure, but it takes a few long seconds to finally let go, as if he needs a moment to process the information.
"I do."
"Then get up here."
And he obeys quickly, settling himself in her lap, with one leg on each side.
"How do you want to do this?"
"Hm..." His mind seems to have gone blank—it’s adorable. "You choose."
"Well, if you’re on top, you’ll have more control. And you can always switch positions if you get tired or uncomfortable."
"Perfect."
Marvin lifts his hips, and Whizzer carefully removes the anal plug. They adjust themselves until the head of his cock is pressed against the relaxed opening. It doesn't take long for Marvin to lower himself down, and he shows no trace of pain. His face contorts with pleasure and his mouth opens when he encounters the other's pelvis. He easily locates that sweet spot and grinds deliciously against it.
What a wonderful sight. That huge ass enveloping him as if born for it, swaying to a rhythm that is completely unscripted and deeply genuine. Husky grunts begin to escape his lips, even though he seems to be trying to hold them back.
Marvin seems to be getting the hang of it, even if the pace is still a bit tentative. Whizzer feels confident enough to lift his hips too—helping out—and isn't rebuffed.
The sound of skin slapping against skin grows louder, more steady. And rising in near-perfect step with it are the moans and grunts of both men.
Marvin moves his legs so that the soles of his feet are on the sofa, instead of his entire leg. The new angle is perfect; he loves it and throws his head back as he bounces, moving faster and faster. Whizzer grips his waist tightly, fucking Marvin for real now.
"Can I touch myself now? Please..." he asks, his voice catching in a particularly loud sob.
Right—now he’s begging. Begging to touch himself.
"No. Not yet. Only when I say so."
Marvin whimpers but doesn't argue. The rush of power is so overwhelming for Whizzer that he has to think of something else to keep from coming too soon. Accounts payable, bills, Trina, whatever.
A hand lands on his shoulder for better leverage and grips so hard it’s bound to leave marks. Marvin must be very close to orgasm, given how he can't even keep his eyes open and how red and swollen his penis is.
It’s the perfect moment to bury his nose in Marvin’s armpit. It smells of sweat—salty and musky—and that specific Marvin scent he could recognize anywhere. His tongue reaches out to taste it, a taste so strange and disgusting that it seals his mouth shut, but even so, he loves it.
"Are you gonna cum?"
Marvin doesn't even hear him, his hips still moving desperately. Whizzer grabs his face and forces him to look. Marvin’s eyes—usually so blue but currently blown wide—go even wider.
"I asked you a question. Are you gonna cum?"
Marvin gives him a pitiful look and nods. Whizzer grabs one of his legs and pulls it toward his chest to thrust even deeper.
"Good boy," he murmurs, though it sounds more like a growl. "You can touch your dick."
He obeys immediately, with the desperation of someone who had been counting the seconds. His hand moves at a ridiculous speed; his cock is so slick that there’s almost no friction.
Nothing else is said by either of them, save for loud, filthy moans. Screw the neighbors, screw Marvin’s damn wife, screw the fact that their relationship is doomed to fail.
"Whizzer..." is the last word before Marvin practically screams, and thick, milky white fluid begins to spill over his hand, chest, and thighs.
Almost immediately, Whizzer finds himself on the verge of going over the same edge. His movements are animalistic and brutal, thrusting in and out as if nothing else in the world matters.
His vision goes white. Nothing else exists for those few seconds.
"Oh, God..."
They’re both still panting for breath when they kiss again. It’s still fast and intense—mostly tongue—but the climax has passed. It’s time to slow down.
"Whizzer," he says, going limp in his arms, because apparently that’s the only word he can manage right now. Whizzer begins to kiss his face affectionately, and he responds with a silly, lovestruck smile.
"What is it?"
"I'm exhausted..." He laughs, then yawns.
"Lie down and let me clean you up. It really takes it out of you."
"Hm..." he murmurs lazily.
Whizzer runs to the bathroom and grabs a wad of toilet paper. If Marvin didn't like being left alone before, he certainly won't like it now. It’s not hard to clean him up while he’s so docile and loose—he’s practically like modeling clay, and maybe too sleepy to feel self-conscious.
He reaches out to help him up, too. Marvin is a bit dizzy and unsteady on his feet, but he manages to walk without much trouble.
"My legs are burning..."
"That's normal. It's like doing squats at the gym."
"I don't train legs at the gym."
"Why not?"
"It's a faggot thing."
Whizzer can't tell if Marvin is serious or joking, because he immediately flops onto the bed.
Whizzer lies down beside him, but not before pulling the covers over them.
"I'm so sleepy."
"Yeah."
Silence.
"Are you going back to Trina tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
More silence.
"I'm seriously thinking about getting a divorce."
"Hm."
A yawn.
"Goodnight."
"You too."
Tomorrow, they’ll go back to their normal lives. Marvin will leave before sunrise, returning to that uneasy truce with his wife and treating Whizzer like the woman in the relationship. Whizzer, on the other hand, will go on with his life pretending he doesn't care, that Marvin is just a fling, and that when he finds a man who treats him better, he'll dump him.
It will take about three years for them to mention that night again.