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Robert’s apartment was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt earned. The soft click of the deadbolt, the shuffle of shoes being kicked off by the door, the contented huff of Beef padding over to his water bowl.
The charged silence from the walk home — from the alley — had settled into something thicker. Warmer. It hung between them like a held breath.
Nasir leaned back against the closed door, arms loose at his sides, watching Robert move through the little routine he always did when he got home. Keys on the ceramic hook. Kettle filled. Cupboard opened.
Domestic, methodical, painfully Robert.
“Your kettle’s judging me,” Nasir announced after a moment, voice low and lazy.
Robert didn’t glance up as he reached for two mugs. “It’s a kettle.”
“Yeah, but it knows.” Nasir pushed off the door, wandering further inside like he owned the place. “Probably heard about the break room incident. I can feel the betrayal from here.”
“You tried to boil ramen in a coffee maker.”
“It was an experiment,” Nasir said defensively. “Innovation requires risk.”
Robert set the mugs on the counter with precise little clicks. “You melted the filter basket.”
“Collateral damage.” Nasir drifted into the living room, spinning slowly like he was surveying a museum exhibit. “God, this place is still weirdly tidy. How do you live like this? It’s like walking into a meditation app.”
“You say that every time.”
“Because it’s unsettling every time.” Nasir gestured vaguely at the spotless surfaces. “My brain keeps expecting something to explode and when it doesn’t it feels… suspiciously calm.”
Robert finally looked up, leaning back against the counter, arms folding loosely across his chest. The under-cabinet lights caught the auburn in his hair.
“You’re stalling.”
Nasir stopped mid-spin.
Then he smiled — slow, wide, shameless.
“Am I?”
“You’ve insulted my kettle, my organisational habits, and modern kitchen appliances as a whole.”
“Correction,” Nasir said, strolling closer, “I respected your kettle. There’s a difference.”
Robert raised an eyebrow.
Nasir stopped a step away now, gaze dropping — very deliberately — to Robert’s mouth.
“But yeah,” he admitted, voice roughening just slightly. “Maybe I’m stalling.”
The kettle started its quiet, rising whistle.
Neither of them moved.
Nasir closed the remaining distance with unhurried confidence, stopping close enough that the heat from him bled through Robert’s shirt.
“Mostly,” he murmured, “I’m still thinking about that alley.”
Robert’s breath hitched out before he could stop it. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Nasir lifted a hand, brushing a loose strand of hair from Robert’s forehead with surprising gentleness.
“Specifically,” he continued, voice dropping into that gravelly register that always made Robert’s stomach flip, “the part where you made that little sound.”
Robert frowned faintly. “What sound?”
Nasir leaned closer, lips ghosting near Robert’s ear.
“The oh one,” he murmured.
The kettle screamed.
Robert reached behind him blindly and yanked the plug from the wall.
The sudden silence rang.
Nasir huffed a quiet laugh against his ear. “Wow. Aggressive.”
“Shut up.”
Robert turned his head and caught Nasir’s mouth with his own.
This kiss wasn’t like the alley. That had been surprise and hunger and public passion. This was slow. Intentional. A deliberate exploration. Robert’s hands came up to frame Nasir’s face, his thumbs stroking over the high arch of his cheekbones. Nasir made a low, pleased noise in the back of his throat, his own hands settling on Robert’s hips, pulling him flush against him.
It was a conversation without words. A push and pull of lips and tongue and shared breath. Nasir tasted like forever, like home and smoke and the sweet horchata from earlier. Robert lost himself in it, in the sheer physical reality of him—the solid wall of his chest, the faint scratch of stubble against his own cleaner-shaven skin, the way his fingers tightened possessively on his hips.
When they finally parted, both were breathing raggedly. Nasir’s amber eyes were dark, pupils blown wide.
“Bedroom,” Robert said, the word coming out rough, more a command than a question.
“Finally,” Nasir breathed, a grin tugging at his kiss-swollen lips. “I was starting to think you wanted to talk about the kettle some more.”
He let Robert lead him by the hand, their footsteps quiet on the hardwood floor. Robert’s bedroom was, like the rest of the apartment, an exercise in calm order. The bed was neatly made, a simple grey duvet. A book lay facedown on the nightstand. The only disorder was Beef’s indented cushion in the corner.
Nasir didn’t comment on the tidiness this time. He stood at the foot of the bed, watching as Robert turned to face him. The playful energy had condensed into something hotter, more focused. A quiet intensity had replaced the chatter, for the moment.
Robert reached for the hem of Nasir’s t-shirt. “Okay?”
“More than okay,” Nasir whispered, his voice thick.
Robert pulled the soft cotton up and over Nasir’s head, letting it fall forgotten to the floor.
The sight stole the air from Robert’s lungs, as it always did. Nasir’s chest was a map of strength and history. The powerful sweep of his pectorals, the defined lines of his abdomen. And there, just beneath the curve of his pecs, the two pale, horizontal lines of his top surgery scars. They were faded now, softened by time and care, twin testaments to a journey Robert only knew in fragments. They weren’t flaws. They were part of his landscape, like the faint smattering of old burn marks on his forearms. And adorning that landscape, the glint of silver—simple barbells through both his nipples, catching the low light.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Robert murmured, the words leaving him before he could think to stop them. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t say something so cliché, but there was no other word for it. It was just a fact.
A faint blush colored Nasir’s cheeks, a rare moment of speechlessness. He covered it by reaching for Robert’s shirt in turn, fumbling with the buttons. “Your turn. No fair you getting a view while I’m… vay, these buttons are tiny.”
Robert helped him, shrugging out of his own shirt. The cool air of the room hit his skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Nasir’s gaze roaming over him.
“See?” Nasir said, his voice regaining some of its usual cadence as his fingers traced the line of Robert’s collarbone. “This is what I mean. You’re all… efficient. Like a diagram of a calm person. I’m a diagram of a chemical reaction that got out of hand.” His fingers drifted lower, tracing the scars on his own chest almost absently. “The sheets are gonna be so soft. I can tell from here. High thread count. You bourgeois revolutionary, you.”
Robert laughed, a soft, breathy sound, and pushed him gently back onto the bed. Nasir went willingly, sprawling against the grey duvet, his dark hair a stark contrast. The silver in his nipples winked. Robert followed him down, bracing himself on his forearms, caging him in.
He kissed him again, deep and searching, then let his mouth travel. Down the strong column of his throat, where he felt the frantic beat of his pulse. Over the ridge of his collarbone. Nasir’s breath hitched, his hands coming up to tangle in Robert’s hair.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “Right there. Your mouth is… mmph… it’s a very focused piece of equipment. Did you get special dispatcher training for that? Precision application of—”
Robert silenced him by closing his lips around one silver barbell, sucking gently.
The effect was instantaneous. Nasir’s back arched off the bed, a sharp, guttural “Fuck!” tearing from his throat. His words dissolved into a ragged moan, his fingers tightening in Robert’s hair. “Oh, oh god. Robbie.”
Robert switched to the other side, lavishing it with the same attention, using his tongue to tease the metal and the sensitive flesh around it. Nasir was writhing beneath him now, a stream of broken, multilingual praise and sensation spilling from his lips.
“Khoob ast… so good, so good… your mouth, it’s… ah! The fan,” he gasped, his head tossing to the side. “The fan’s spinning. It’s like a… a lazy helicopter. Why is it so hypnotic? Don’t stop.”
Robert smiled against his skin, kissing a wet trail down the center of his torso, over the firm planes of his stomach. His hands went to the button of Nasir’s jeans, popping it open, dragging the zipper down. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of his boxers and jeans together and pulled them down in one slow, deliberate motion.
Nasir lifted his hips to help, kicking the clothes off the rest of the way. He lay bare before him, gloriously, unselfconsciously so. The trimmed hair at the junction of his thighs was indeed shaped into stylized, licking flames, a detail so perfectly him it made Robert’s heart clench. And there, nestled within the fiery curls, the small, glinting jewel of a glans clit piercing.
Robert’s mouth went dry. He settled between Nasir’s powerful thighs, his hands running up and down their solid, muscular length. He focused on the feel of them—the dense strength of the quadriceps, the softer give of the inner skin, the way they tensed and trembled under his touch.
“You have incredible thighs,” Robert said, his voice husky with want. He pressed a kiss to the inside of one, just above the knee. “So strong. They feel amazing.”
Nasir let out a shaky laugh, propping himself up on his elbows to look down the length of his own body. “They’re good for kicking things. And, khob, for wrapping around you. Which is a much better use. Theory versus practice. You’re a practical man, you appreciate that.” He was talking to stave off the overwhelming tension, Robert knew. The words were a lifeline.
“I do,” Robert agreed, his breath ghosting over heated skin. He nuzzled into the crease of his thigh, inhaling his unique, clean scent mixed with the faint, lingering smokiness. Then he turned his head and pressed an open-mouthed kiss there, right where leg met torso.
Nasir jolted. “Oh!”
Robert did it again, then let his teeth scrape lightly over the same sensitive spot. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to claim, to mark, to feel the muscle jump under his mouth.
“Robert!” Nasir’s voice broke on the name. His hand flew down to tangle in Robert’s hair again, not pushing, just holding on. “Yes, like that… do that…”
Robert soothed the spot with his tongue, then began to move higher, his kisses trailing inward. Nasir’s breathing was a ragged symphony now, punctuated by soft, punched-out gasps and half-formed words. Robert could see the evidence of his arousal, the wetness glistening, the small, pierced clit already swollen and eager.
He didn’t go straight for it. He took his time, kissing and licking the surrounding skin, mapping the territory with a dispatcher’s thoroughness. He used his thumbs to gently part the folds, exposing more of him to the cool air and his warm gaze.
“You’re so wet,” Robert murmured, awed. He looked up, meeting Nasir’s blown, hazy eyes. “So beautiful here. All for me.”
Nasir’s response was a wordless, desperate noise. He nodded frantically, his hips making a tiny, involuntary roll upwards.
“Please,” he finally managed, the word a raw scrape of sound. “Robbie, please touch me. I need… I need your hands.”
That was all the consent Robert needed. He leaned down and pressed a single, soft, closed-mouth kiss right over his pierced clit.
Nasir cried out, his whole body bowing off the bed. “F-FUCK!”
Robert smiled, a wicked, tender thing. Then he began in earnest.
He started with his tongue, broad, flat strokes that made Nasir’s thighs clamp around his head for a second before falling open again, boneless. He licked and sucked, exploring the different textures, learning what made Nasir’s breath catch and what made him moan long and low. The metal of the piercing was cool against his tongue, a fascinating contrast to the incredible heat and softness surrounding it.
“Oh my god… oh my god…” Nasir was babbling, one arm thrown over his eyes. “It’s like… it’s like you’re reading a manual. In my brain. A very good manual. With pictures. Color-coded. The sheets are soft, I was right, it’s like being on a cloud that’s trying to kill me with pleasure, don’t you dare stop—*”
Robert added a finger. Just one, slick with Nasir’s own wetness, pressing slowly, inexorably inside.
The ramble cut off into a sharp, choked gasp. Nasir’s back arched again, a stunning curve of muscle and tension. “Yes!” he cried out, the word echoing in the quiet room. “Right there, right there, oh fuck, Robbie…”
Robert began to move his finger, a slow, shallow thrust, curling it just so on the withdrawal. His mouth never left him, his tongue circling and flicking over his clit in a counter-rhythm that had Nasir dissolving into a writhing, pleading mess.
“More… another… please, I can take it, I need it…” he begged, his hands fisting in the duvet.
Robert added a second finger, stretching him gently, feeling the tight, hot clasp of his body. The sounds were obscene, wet and perfect. Nasir’s voice rose in pitch, his words fracturing into pure, desperate sound.
“I’m… I’m gonna… it’s so much, it’s too much, it’s… the fan is a blur, I can’t see it, everything is… you’re so good, you’re so good at this, how are you so good at this, fuck—!”
His hips were moving in frantic, uncoordinated rolls, meeting Robert’s fingers, chasing his tongue. Robert could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, a spring about to snap. He fastened his mouth more firmly around his clit, sucking rhythmically, his fingers pumping steadily, curling to hit that perfect spot inside with every thrust.
Nasir’s voice shattered. A raw, broken cry tore from his throat, wordless and magnificent. His body locked, every muscle straining, his thighs trembling violently where they framed Robert’s head. Robert felt the rhythmic clenching around his fingers, the flood of wet heat, and he rode him through it, gentling his motions as the waves of pleasure crashed over him.
Slowly, slowly, Nasir collapsed back onto the bed, boneless and spent. His chest heaved, sweat glistening on his skin, catching the light on his scars and piercings. He was utterly, beautifully wrecked.
Robert carefully withdrew his fingers and crawled up the bed to lie beside him. He wrapped an arm around his chest, pulling him close, pressing a kiss to his damp temple. Nasir’s skin was fever-hot.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing syncing, slowing. Then Nasir turned his head, his eyes slitted open, a dazed, sated smile on his face.
“Wow,” he breathed, voice hoarse. “Okay. So. That happened.”
Nasir nuzzled into Robert’s neck, boneless and warm, clearly still riding the aftershocks of it. “Your fingers… vay. Those should be registered as lethal weapons. Or—no—precision surgical instruments.” He waved a lazy hand in the air. “For happiness. I feel very… surgically happy.”
Robert chuckled, the sound low in his chest. He pressed a kiss to Nasir’s forehead. “Good.”
“More than good.” Nasir shifted slightly, his palm coming to rest over Robert’s heart. “I talked a lot, didn’t I? I think I mentioned the fan. And the sheets. And—hold on—yeah, the structural integrity of your bed frame. I was genuinely concerned for a second there.”
“I like it when you talk,” Robert said quietly. “I like knowing what’s in your head. Even if it’s… fan commentary.”
Nasir’s mouth twitched. His eyes drifted closed, lashes resting against his cheeks.
“Your turn,” he murmured after a moment, fingers idly tracing circles over Robert’s chest. “Don’t get comfortable, Robbo. I’m not done with you. Not even close. I just need… a minute.”
He yawned, badly disguising it behind the back of his hand.
“To remember how my legs work,” he finished. “And to plan my next move. It’s gonna be good. I have ideas. Several. Involving my mouth. And your—”
His voice dissolved into a sleepy mumble before he could finish the sentence. The dramatic threat of round two faded quickly as his body went heavy against Robert’s side, the last of his energy giving out.
Robert just held him there, listening to his breathing settle. He looked down at the man half-collapsed across him—loud, impossible, brilliant—and felt that deep, quiet steadiness settle into his chest again.
Nasir stirred a little, his lips brushing Robert’s skin.
“Love you,” he mumbled, the words slurred and barely awake.
Robert’s heart squeezed. He tightened his arm around him and pressed a kiss into his hair.
“I love you too, my little audiobook.”
Nasir made a faint, offended noise and shoved weakly at Robert’s face.
“Ugh,” he muttered without opening his eyes. “Don’t call me that after sex. Have some class, Mecha Bitch.”
Then he immediately burrowed closer anyway.