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Sometimes, Nandor liked to make love. Go slow. Savor each touch. Luxuriate in the gentle pleasure, let touch linger and endearments slip from his lips like honey.
And sometimes all he wanted was to bend over, bite the pillow, and let Guillermo fuck the unliving daylights out of him.
Today was one of those days.
His arms had long since given out, and his fingers had dug so hard into the sheets he was pretty sure they’d ripped, but neither of them would dream of stopping. Every thrust was fire up his spine, bursts of pleasure behind his eyelids, his brain free of any thoughts except how very very good Guillermo was to him.
Nandor wanted more—correction, needed more. Guillermo had both hands on his hips, holding him in place while he fucked him like it was going out of style. It was good—wonderful, even—but Nandor’s dick was going to explode if it didn’t get some attention.
“Touch me,” he gasped. Guillermo didn’t answer. “Touch me,” Nandor said, a little louder. Still no response.
It was possible Guillermo was deliberately ignoring him, but you knew when Guillermo was teasing. He liked Nandor to know he was doing it. It was very important to Guillermo that Nandor know Guillermo knew what he wanted, knew how to give it to him, and wasn’t going to.
“Guillermo,” he whined. Sure enough, Guillermo let out a groan in response.
“I’ve got you,” he gasped. “I’ve got you.”
You don’t, though, Nandor thought, irritably.
“Guillermo, please touch me,” he said, perfectly willing to beg.
He shoved himself up on his elbows and jerked his head over his shoulder to glare at Guillermo.
“Do I have to draw you a fucking map?” he snapped. Guillermo stuttered to a halt midthrust and stared down at him.
“What?” he asked, in a stupid, annoying way.
“I asked you three times to touch me!”
“No you didn’t.”
“Yes I did!”
“You did not! You said my name, and then sort of mumbled.”
Nandor squirmed out from under Guillermo, who made a noise of discomfort at the motion, then turned around so he could glare at Guillermo properly. He grabbed Guillermo’s wrist and dragged it between his legs.
“Touch me here, please,” he said, as slowly and sarcastically as possible.
Guillermo stared at him.
“Say that again?” he said, in a strange tone of voice.
“Touch. Me. Here.”
“Imjarow ba-mal.” The sounds were clumsy on Guillermo’s tongue, but still kind of sexy. Nandor would have appreciated it more if he wasn’t so annoyed.
“Injaro bemal,” Nandor said. “In, not im—”
He stopped.
They stared at each other.
“Injaro bemal,” Guillermo repeated, slightly less terribly but in that same vague tone.
“Yes,” Nandor said, also quite distant. “That’s right.”
Neither of them was willing to say it. Nandor was afraid if he tried to do it on purpose—if he so much as directly thought about what was happening--it would stop happening.
“How are you feeling?” Guillermo asked.
I’m fine, said Nandor’s brain—the automatic response, he wasn’t sure how true it was—but the word that came out of his mouth was “Khubam.”
Nandor looked down at his hand. In a whisper, so as not to frighten the words away, he counted.
“Yek, do, se, chahar, panj…”
He looked up at Guillermo. The words that came to his mind did not come first in English.
Jigar tala.
“Did you just fuck a language into me?”
The tension snapped. They both howled with laughter, Guillermo nearly bent double, clutching onto each other to stay upright. Nandor laughed until his eyes began to water, and then forced himself to calm down. He wasn’t sure how long those tears would stay tears of laughter.
“Okay,” Guillermo said, still snickering. “Okay, okay, I’m pretty sure I didn’t fuck it into you—”
“Yes, you just fucked it out of my subconscious.”
Guillermo choked and cleared his throat. Nandor leaned over and kissed him, softly.
“Aziz-e delam,” he said, the words like liquid gold on his tongue. “Asheghetam.”
“What does that mean?” Guillermo asked.
From the smile, Nandor knew he could guess. All the same, he kissed Guillermo one last time and said, in a voice overflowing with adoration, “You fuck good.”
Guillermo laughed and shoved him away. Nandor caught his hands and dragged him down with him, then rolled so he had Guillermo on his back, and kissed him again.
“Mikham root basham,” he said, playfully.
“And what does that mean?”
Nandor straddled Guillermo’s hips and waggled his eyebrows.
“I will show you.”