21+ UK M writter

"Maybe not a serial killer thing, but certainly frowned upon," he said as he pushed his hair back, head turning to peer at Leo when he pulled the curtain back. A part of him didn't want to admit that yes, he had missed the other.

He sighed heavily, looking Leo over. He looked unfairly good.

"What are you doing here, Leo? Breaking in at that?" Since he'd been given his key back ages ago.

He stayed where he was at first, fingers still hooked lightly into the edge of the curtain, steam curling around him in lazy ribbons. For a second, he just looked at him—really looked. Like he was taking inventory of everything that hadn’t changed… and everything that had.

Joseph still wore the same kind of tension in his shoulders. Still had that voice—half dry, half guarded.

Leo exhaled slowly through his nose, a faint smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice low and unbothered. “I’ve been told I have a talent for showing up in ways people don’t expect.”

He stepped closer then, not quite into the spray of the water yet, but near enough that droplets caught on his skin, clinging to the sharp lines of his chest and collarbone. His presence filled the small space easily—tall, solid, inescapable in that quiet, deliberate way.

Joseph’s question hung there between them.

Leo’s expression shifted—not softer, exactly, but something more honest edged through it. Less teasing. More… deliberate.

“I knocked,” he said after a beat, one brow lifting faintly. “You didn’t answer.”

A lie. Or at least, not the full truth. And he didn’t seem particularly concerned about clarifying it.

His gaze dragged once, slow and unapologetic, over Joseph before settling back on his face.

“Besides…” he added, voice dipping just slightly, quieter now, closer. “You gave the key back. Not the invitation.”

A pause. The faintest tilt of his head.

“So I figured I’d stop waiting for one.”

The man was not like most of the others that had messaged him, first of all. Instead of immediately sending a dick pic, or asking about how many hung guys he had been with, he asked him questions. Regular, genuine questions. And slowly the two had exchanged messages back and forth, building a connection and flirting with one another until, eventually, Ben was asking him to come over to his place. The meaning behind it was unspoken, and while Luca wasn't necessarily looking for some immediate gratification, he was adamant that this thing with Ben was... not like any of those things with the other guys that messaged him.

Wearing a leather jacket over his white tank and skin-fitting jeans that hugged all the right spots on his body, he headed to the address and opened it and... almost immediately had to catch himself from letting his jaw drop. The man before him was handsome, excruciatingly so, and the way that the robe he wore showed off just enough had him wanting more.

"Wow... just... wow..." Luca couldn't help but say as he walked into the man's place, aware of where the night was heading... and hoping that it was the start of something more.

When Luca shrugged off the jacket and exposed more of himself, Ben’s eyes sharpened with appreciation rather than hunger. Hunger was easy. Control was art. He stepped closer, closing the distance until there was only a breath between them, fingers brushing lightly over Luca’s forearm as if inspecting the tattoos rather than the man. “Overdressed?” Ben repeated, voice lowering. His hand drifted to the hem of Luca’s tank, thumb hooking there but not pulling yet. He held Luca’s gaze instead, testing, measuring, enjoying the tension stretched taut between them. “I can absolutely help with that,” he said softly, leaving the next move hanging in the air like a question Luca would have to answer with more than words.

"How would someone be so stupid to the point of refusing such a thing of beauty?"

Dalvin liked to see the world in a rather poetic way. Not flowery and silly. He had a thing for giving coin to the poets who could really see the beauty in the raunchy things that turned him on. One such man was naked in Dalvin's chambers, cock hard in one hand, saying he once had a lover who hated his big cock and refused to suck on it. Dalvin licked his lips, just by staring at the thing.

"Just promise me you won't let me go until you have it all deep in me." He approached, fully dressed in his fancy clothes, with lacey sleeves and colorful ties. He let his mouth fill up with saliva and then made himself comfortable in between those spread legs. Next thing was slowly trying to fill his mouth with cock. It was indeed a thing of beauty and its size was what gave it the perfection sort of detail. But it was a struggle.

“No,” he said quietly, the word landing with weight. “Don’t slow down.”

He rolled his hips just enough to make the point unmistakable, using Dalvin’s position instead of asking permission for it. His grip shifted, guiding rather than yanking, but there was no mistaking who decided the depth now, who set the pace. Leo’s jaw flexed as he watched the silk sleeves bunch further, lace trembling with each breath Dalvin took.

“You’re staring like you found a treasure,” Leo continued, voice low, almost amused. “So stop treating it like something fragile.”

He leaned forward slightly, close enough that Dalvin could feel the heat of him, smell sweat and street and confidence earned the hard way.

“I didn’t end up on your streets by being gentle,” he said. “And I don’t stay where I’m not wanted.”

His thumb pressed under Dalvin’s chin, lifting just enough to force eye contact. The dominance wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.

“But you want this,” Leo added, sure and unflinching. “And if you’re going to kneel for it, you’re going to take it like you mean it.”

He held him there, suspended in that charged moment, daring Dalvin to rise to him instead of melting away.

His tight little hole just kept opening up with that tongue working him just right, his body shaking and ample cheeks flexing with every little motion. He felt himself slowly getting more and more needy, more wanton and desperate to be fucked but also just more willing to relax and let Leo take control. His body slowly relaxed, he became more pliable and back arched just enough that he looked like the eager bottom slut that he was “Oh fuck… yes… please, please don’t stop… you feel so good.. So… so fucking good!”

He didn’t rush. He liked to savor, to take his time. His movements stayed purposeful, every small motion meant to test boundaries and coax trust. Leo’s gaze lifted briefly, catching a glimpse of Harry through the dim light — the sight enough to pull a quiet smile to his lips.

“Good,” he murmured, voice dark and approving. “That’s what I wanted — you, letting go.”

The words came out like velvet over steel, soft but commanding. He let his breath fan against warm skin, taking in the heady mix of scent and heat.

“You taste incredible,” he said, his tone deepening as he leaned back in with quiet satisfaction. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this.”

He lingered there, focused entirely on his own rhythm — the steady pace of control, the quiet pleasure of holding power without needing to force it. For Leo, this was the sweetest part: the unspoken communication, the pull between dominance and trust that needed no words at all.

As the hole continued to open up, he begun forcing more and more of his tongue inside of Harry, slowly at first before he begun tongue fucking. He continued this before he forced as much as he could inside of Harry and held it there savouring the taste of the man above him.

Joseph had gotten home late. He'd barely dropped all his stuff where it belonged before he climbed in to the shower to wash the day off. The sound of the water rushing over him muted most any outside noise. Not that there was...usually any sort of outside noise for there to be had. So when he heard some sort of bump or rustle, he paused.

"Is someone here?" he called out into the house. "Benji? That you?" It wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility for his son to have stopped by unannounced, but at this time of night?

He’d meant to wait downstairs, maybe announce himself like a normal person, but the sound of the shower running had pulled him toward the bathroom before he’d made up his mind.

When Joseph called out, Leo froze halfway down the hall. A low smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Benji? That earned the faintest breath of laughter. Not quite.

He moved quietly—bare feet on cool tile, the fog from the bathroom spilling out to meet him as he reached the half-closed door. Steam clung to his skin, to the curve of his jaw, the muscles in his chest already damp from the humid air. He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe for a moment, just watching through the blur of condensation.

Joseph’s silhouette behind the curtain was all he could see — broad shoulders, the long sweep of his back as water ran down it. Leo’s pulse kicked once, hard.

Then he stepped inside.

No sudden noise. Just the soft click of the door closing, the rustle of his shirt coming off, a shadow moving closer through the steam.

“Relax,” Leo’s voice came low, smooth and amused, the edge of a grin audible even through the hiss of the water. “Not a serial killer. Unless you count breaking and entering as one of my darker hobbies.”

He reached up, knuckles brushing the curtain aside just enough for their eyes to meet through the mist.

“Miss me?”

Eventually, Alois nodded.

"But will I get to fuck you too?" He asked in a soft voice, deep still, but almost like a whisper. His hand moved to grab Leo's side, not letting that body escape from his arms. He wanted it too - somehow, ever since they started drinking on the bar below, he had been waiting for that goal to happen. He was close to it.

"Your ass is too perfect for me to miss the opportunity." He added, moving a little so he was rolling on top of Leo, hands on each side of the other's body, his legs working so he could spread Leo's legs apart. He wanted to be closer than that. Even more. His face was inches away from the other's face, their nose almost touching.

"Come on, say you want it."

When Alois spoke, Leo’s eyes flicked up to meet his, pupils wide, mouth parting on a shaky exhale. A low, helpless laugh escaped him, equal parts tension and truth.

“You think I haven’t thought about it?” he murmured, voice rougher now, the usual confidence softened by honesty. “From the first night we met… when you leaned my desk and looked at me like that—I wanted you to take me. Wanted to know what it would feel like to let go with you.”

He swallowed, his hand sliding up Alois’s arm, stopping at his shoulder. The faint tremor in his fingers gave him away even as he smiled.

“I want it,” Leo breathed, barely more than a whisper now. “I want you.”

His eyes lingered on Alois’s lips, then flicked back up, a quiet challenge in the softness. “But if we do this… we do it slow. I want to feel every second of it.”