#makhachev

The loss.

It had affected Charles greatly—a lot more than he had expected and intended it to.

The reaction from fans, the pitying glances his colleagues gave, it gave him an unfamiliar feeling of shame he hadn't felt in a long time. He found himself thinking back to the clips that replayed his loss a bit more than he'd admit.

But there was someone that made everything better. Islam Makhachev.

They started dating a few years ago, and silently married around 2 months ago, surrounded by close friends and family. Charles couldn't have asked for a better husband.

He noticed his behaviour, how it changed and became sullen. He checked up on Charles and he didn't even have to ask.

And Charles couldn't be more grateful.

“Islam,” Charles called out, appearing at the doorway of their bedroom and leaning against it. He watched as Islam spun in his chair to face him, his expression curious and welcoming. Oliveira smiled, gesturing him to come to him.

He observed as Islam got up from the chair and approached him. There was something about how big and bulky Islam had gotten to prepare for his welterweight debut that stirred some things in Charles, even more so if the man stood in front of him.

“You need anything?”

Charles nodded and leaned forward, cupping his hand around Islam's ear as he whispered.

“.. You want to do that, huh?” Islam whispered eventually in response, his voice noticeably lower and darker.

“Yes..” murmured Oliveira as he fidgeted with his thumbs, nervous about trying something new.

Islam let out a soft huff through his nose, before he grabbed Charles's shoulders and lead him to the bed, “take off your clothes and lie down. I'll make sure you'll never think of him again.”

Charles shuddered and his smile became visibly lopsided as he obeyed, sitting down on the edge of the bed and stripping off his clothes. He watched Islam do the same, taking a moment to observe how his muscles twisted and morphed as Islam took his shirt off before he laid down on the bed.

Once Islam had his clothes taken off, he focused back on Charles. He took a moment to cherish the sight in front of him before he got on bed, sat on his knees and in front of Charles.

He spread the Brazilian's legs open, leaning until he was lying down and head tucked in between his thighs. Islam's breath tickled the sensitive skin of his crotch and thigh, earning a shiver that ran through Charles's body.

He didn't waste much time after. His hand deftly wrapped around Charles's still soft cock, rubbing the tip against his plump lips as he pressed gentle kisses against it.

Charles started to let out soft gasps, his body instinctively tensing with each kiss. “Islam, por favor, não provoque.. (please don't tease) ah!-"

Charles let out an obscene moan when he felt Islam take the head of his cock into his mouth. He reached out, his hand grabbing onto what he could of Islam's hair as his hips slowly canted up.

Islam bobbed his head with a decent pace, his cheeks hollowing as he took Charles deeper in his throat. He swirled his tongue around the base. He would take Charles all the way to the base, gagging slightly as he kept eye contact with the Brazilian as he slowly raised his head, his tongue tracing over any veins he could feel.

Islam removed his mouth from Charles with a lewd pop, panting harshly as he ran his tongue from the base to the tip. He glanced up at the Brazilian, noticing how he seemed to be embarrassed as he covered his eyes with his arm while letting out soft mewls of pleasure.

Quickly, Makhachev moved to straddle Charles's hips as his hand reached out to take away his arm, “look at me,” he murmured lowly, “don't be embarrassed, Любовь моя (my love).”

“Foda- se, eu não estou envergonhado, meu amor (Fuck- I'm not embarrassed, my love),” Charles snickered as he looked up at Islam, grabbing his hand and raising it so he'd cup his cheek, “você parece bom demais. Tenho medo de que, se eu olhar por muito tempo, não seria capaz de durar (you look too good. I'm afraid that if I look for too long, I wouldn't be able to last)..”

Islam's ego, usually hidden, flared at Charles's words, “you are too good to me.”

He reached back, grabbing Charles's cock with his hand to line it up with his hole. He teased lightly, running the tip over his pucker which caused Charles to whimper out of need. Islam let out a low snicker, his other hand resting on Charles's toned chest before he lowered himself and let out a soft groan.

Islam started to ride Charles with increasing fervor once he got used to the unfamiliar but welcome stretch and fullness. He had learnt it by observation, by how Charles had done it with him before. He arched his back as his hips slammed back down against Charles, letting out an unexpected mewl when he felt it press against his prostate.

“So good,” Charles couldn't help but praise, running his hands over Islam's chest and back, his nails gently scratching and catching at the skin, “você está indo tão bem.. Seu corpo, seu tudo.. Perfeito.. (youre doing so good, your body, your everything, it's perfect)”

“Close, I'm close-” Islam panted, his cock starting to leak against Charles's stomach, “need all of you inside me..”

Charles nodded, his hands going to Islam's hips as he started to thrust in sync with Islam's pace. Both men started to moan louder, their pace and Charles's thrusts becoming sloppy and sloppier until they both spilled over the edge.

Islam's cock throbbed as thick ropes of cum shot out and covered a majority of Charles's stomach and chest, though some of it managed to hit his chin and lips.

He rocked his hips back as he felt Charles fill him up, his heat clenching tightly around Charles to milk all he could before he leaned forward and laid on top of Charles.

“.. Eu não consigo pensar (I can't think),” Charles murmured, wrapping an arm lazily around Islam's body.

“Good. That's the whole point.”