The quiet of the house was a constant companion for three days. Levi was barely ho, a phantom presence who always departed by eight in the morning and returned near midnight. During that ti, my life beca an elaborate performance; I spent hours on the phone, weaving a fantastical tale of love at first sight and a whirlwind marriage to explain my sudden disappearance to friends, co-workers, and my agency. It was a dumb lie, in my opinion, too sappy by half, but I told it with conviction.
I watched him, no, stalked him in the house. My new routine revolved around observing him. He didn't really eat at the dining table; whenever he ca back, he went straight to his locked room, spent so ti in there, erged, and then vanished into his own bedroom to sleep. Our schedules were inverted; he left early, and I, now liberated from the need for early auditions, slept late, so I didn’t see him at all in the mornings. And when he returned, exhausted and aloof, I didn’t really have anything to say to the guy, so I didn’t say anything.
But this house, these cold, gleaming walls, were slowly creeping on . The sheer boredom was a physical weight, a suffocating blanket of loneliness.
It was close to midnight, but I was feeling surprisingly energetic, the caffeine from the coffee still buzzing in my veins. And then I heard it—the faint, familiar clanking of keys. Levi entered the house, his silhouette briefly frad in the doorway, and saw lounging on the couch. He actually flinched, a subtle, almost imperceptible twitch of his shoulders. Is this really the first reaction I'm getting from him after three days?
“Nearly forgot your face,” I said.
“My apologies, work has been really hectic for .”
He went to his room to change, and ca back monts later wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt. It wasn’t chilly or anything indoors. Why was he always wearing those long sleeves? Was he hiding sothing, or just perpetually cold?
“So reporters managed to capture images of you today. I chose not to suppress them. Consequently, we will proceed with our wedding photo shoots tomorrow. This, of course, is contingent upon your agreent.”
“What if I say no?” I countered, gauging his reaction.
“I will reschedule them, certainly, but it is imperative that we acquire photographs of our marital union prior to the dinner with my family. It will facilitate our objective to…”
“To what?” I pressed, leaning forward, intrigued.
“I am endeavoring to select the most appropriate terminology. To… to screw my parents.”
I started laughing, a sharp, disbelieving sound, but a new layer of curiosity crept in about his reserved deanor. What would that deadpan face look like in an intimate mont? If he said "screw my parents" with such a straight face, what would he do when genuinely stirred?
“What a foul mouth you have,” I remarked, a dry amusent in my tone.
“I am glad you found it amusing.” His reply was imdiate, unblinking. Are you really? I had never actually seen a positive expression from him, not a genuine one. Which made even more curious about his bedroom activity. Would he still have that utterly deadpan expression, that blank face, if he climaxed?
As he said yes to everything, indulging my whims, my desires for more of his unique, unsettling compliance grew. And let’s be honest here, he was undeniably handso and oddly attentive in his own way. Soone like him, so seemingly detached, would likely prioritize his partner’s pleasure. I couldn’t deny my growing physical attraction to him, a primal pull that defied logic.
I ca from really conservative parents. They wanted to marry by 18, have children, and secure a good, conventional job. You know the drill. My earliest mory of that house was fine; that dynamic as a child was fine. Until I realized their affection was superficial, a condition of my compliance. They created a mold in their own fantasies, wanted to fit into them perfectly, a living doll reflecting their narrow ideals. Never use cuss words, do not raise your voice, do not use violence, and absolutely do not like boys. They actually wanted to be an angel, like the porcelain figures in their rigid religion, a flawless, compliant being.
It was around the ti I was about to graduate from high school, a period where I felt as if I were trapped in an unyielding vise, each breath pulling tighter as the weight of expectations bore down on . Constant moral education, the sermons which never sat right with , soone always telling what to do. My parents wanted to study law, which was sothing I absolutely didn’t want.
I felt utterly exhausted, hollowed out. I never had anything truly on my own, no space for myself. They weren't abusive per se, not with physical violence, but they saw more as a reflection of their dreams than as a person, which left feeling lost and deeply resented. I was the only son, the angelic face, the bright future ahead of him, and I hated it. I was repulsed by my own hypocrisy. I wasn’t happy with my relatively okay parents, I wasn’t happy with my friends who silently judged , I wasn’t happy by myself. I was just breathing at that point, nothing more.
On the last day of high school, a desperate act of defiance, my friends and I went to a bar to celebrate our legal drinking age. The first sip of alcohol, cheap and fiery, hit like a revelation, and all of the reasoning inside my brain saying “They are your parents, they loved you, looked after you, put a roof over your head, you owe them this, go to the law school and don’t kiss boys” went far, far away, drowned out by the sudden, exhilarating rush of freedom. It wasn’t alcohol’s fault. I was about to do sothing really bad, sothing irrevocable, and I desperately needed an excuse by saying “Sorry, I was drunk.”
So I searched the crowded bar, found the first guy with a big, muscular body, and jumped on him, a desperate, clumsy leap. It was underwhelming and foreign, a clumsy tangle of limbs and unfamiliar sensations, but I was still happy with it. I never saw the other guy afterwards. But my friends back then knew what I did. They outed to my parents without ever telling they would.
As an adult right now, who has severed every connection with my parents, it was, ironically, the best possible outco for . I could never have mustered the courage to co out to my parents on my own terms. Well, I got slapped by my mother, a sharp blow that landed squarely on my cheek, the one who had already chosen a perfectly suitable bride for , but what’s a little slap between an emotionally unavailable mother and a gay son?
After that day, so other things happened, a blur of argunts and silent treatnts, but I actually ran away from the house. I had already applied for citizenship to Ascaria, knowing they were a beacon for those like . I knew they would help a gay runaway kid, and surprisingly, I secured so scholarship money. I started traveling around the country, drifting, taking odd jobs, seeking a purpose.
But I actually always liked the attention. Attention from my parents when I had a good grade, or praising from my grandparents for not being a picky eater. Severing ties with my family and my friends, though necessary, made lose those constant validations. No, a better word:
Praise.
I lost the praise.
It was very popular to upload vlogs back then, a new frontier for self-expression. So I uploaded a bunch of badly edited travel videos to the internet, desperate for an audience, any audience. I was shy at first, self-conscious, and my videos had very low production quality, raw and unpolished, but I still got the attention I craved, the praise I needed.
Do not get wrong, not because I was a good content creator or anything. I was simply because I looked good.
I had a comforting face. It was my most valuable asset, even then.
A year and a half passed, a blur of fleeting gigs and restless searching, when an agency from Ascaria reached out, offering modeling and acting contracts. I knew modeling would be a better fit for , easier, less demanding. But if I were only a model, the attention would inevitably die by the ti I was thirty, a fleeting flicker of fa. So I chose acting, a longer, more challenging pursuit of that elusive praise. The agency helped with my working permit, the Ascaria foundation for immigration helped with my housing permit, and I was also openly gay, welcod into their progressive society. I had already submitted an application for their foundation, another layer of support.
I never hid my sexuality in Ascaria, or actually never even hid myself, not truly. Ascaria was really a paradise for misfits. Like this guy, Levi. He helps millions of people, orchestrates grand designs for a better world. But he is the loneliest of them all. He is so alone that he needs a stranger, a "scandalous gay bride," to help him escape his own gilded cage. He created a paradise for everyone, while he himself never ever realizes he is the guy, holding the key to the Eden, the very freedom he craves existing within his own grasp.
"Levi." I broke the quiet, my voice softer than I intended, a silken whisper designed to entice.
"Yes, Raphael." His eyes t mine, giving nothing away, and everything to imagine.
"Let's have so fun, hm?" I said, a playful, suggestive note twisting the words. He looked at my face, his expression utterly uncomprehending, not understanding the layered aning. The lack of reaction only fueled a dangerous spark in .
"Let's have sex." I clarified, blunt and direct, cutting through the pretense. He glanced quickly towards the locked room, a phantom of consideration, then his eyes snapped back to . "As you wish, Raphael."
That’s it? You just gonna say yes? No hesitation, no surprise, no anything?
"Why did you agree to that?" I demanded, a surge of irritation, a challenge in my tone.
"Raphael, please excuse , but I need to ask. Are you being intentionally dense? I explicitly inford you, I would accede to any request."
Ah, this was what it felt like to feel your blood boil, a furious heat rising from my chest, consuming . My ears were burning, hot with indignation, my skin prickling with frustrated desire.
"Oh yeah? Fine. I’ll take a shower." I snapped, turning on my heel and leaving imdiately for the shower, a desperate need to escape his infuriating composure, to cool the raging fire within . That prick, ‘intentionally dense’. I was trying to be nice to him, to approach this whole bizarre situation with so semblance of normalcy, to tease and draw him in, and he had the audacity to call dense. As I was scrubbing myself angrily, the hot water beating down on my skin, a searing caress, it dawned on . It’s gonna be his first ti, and he will probably groggily thrust himself, oh, no. A wave of dread, thick and cloying, washed over . I wanted to bail, to run back to my old apartnt and its familiar misery, to hide under my threadbare blankets. But the curiosity, the insatiable, burning need to know what lay beneath Levi’s impenetrable facade, what secrets his body held, was still stronger, far more compelling than my fear. For both our sakes, but mostly my own desperate need for control and pleasure, I started fingering myself, doing my best to stretch myself, preparing for what was likely to be an awkward, clumsy encounter.
I never taught soone from the start. Shit, it’s gonna be a really long night. After spending around thirty minutes in the shower, I got out and wrapped myself in a soft, steaming bathrobe, tying the sash tightly around my waist.
Do you know the feeling of awkwardness? The excruciatingly awkward silences at dates, where every second stretches into an eternity, or the searing humiliation in a classroom when you answer a really easy question wrong and everyone stares, their eyes boring into your soul. Yes, that specific brand of awkwardness, a cold, clenching pit in my stomach, was precisely what I was feeling now. Why am I feeling this? I wanted this. I initiated this. I was supposed to be in control. Then, the muffled sound of his door locking itself echoed from the other side of the hall, a soft, final click. That bastard, what’s he doing inside there?
I walked towards his door, my hesitant steps echoing on the polished floor. He was standing by his bedroom door, his hair not fully dry, a little damp like mine, clinging slightly to his forehead in soft tendrils. And he was wearing long-sleeved black silk pajamas, the fabric clinging to his lean fra. Which, bizarrely, made it even more awkward, more charged, for . I was starkly reminded of my situation, the cold, transactional nature of it, the underlying agreent. I was getting paid for sex. To be honest, the money was really good, enough to solve all my imdiate problems, to banish the gnawing anxiety of bills. But a wave of sha, hot and unexpected, washed over , a bitter taste in my mouth.
He extended his hand to , just like he did when we first t in the hotel suite, a gesture of formal invitation. "Raphael, if you are experiencing any apprehension, or indeed having second thoughts, we may simply choose to rest. There is no compulsion for you to proceed."
I wish he pressured though. I wish he was the one who asked, who wanted this, truly.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
"No, I want to." I took his hand, my fingers intertwining with his, his touch cool against my own, sending a shiver through . He led us silently to his bedroom, the door swinging open to reveal its interior.
His bedroom design was, breathtaking. Which I an, boring as fuck. Similar to mine but his desk was larger, and he had a laptop and a monitor on his desk, all ticulously aligned, a monunt to order. It was an organized, clean, and utterly simple room. But not a single footprint of him, no personal touches, no warmth, no sign that a living, breathing, complex human being resided here.
While I was glancing around his room, taking in the sterile perfection, I realized I was still holding his hand. His skin was cool to the touch and I felt the rough texture of a callus, a slight hardening between his fingers, like a pencil callus from hours of diligent work. His hand was larger than mine, his fingers long and slender, almost elegantly ford.
"Raphael, do you derive enjoynt from the act of holding hands?" he asked, his voice flat, snapping out of my silent observation. I flinched, a subtle jerk of my hand, realizing I had been idly fidgeting with his hand, my thumb tracing the faint callus, lost in thought.
"I don’t know, Levi. Don’t ask that. It’s a weird question right now."
"I believe it is a pertinent inquiry, however." he said, his gaze unwavering, his eyes locking onto mine, seeking an answer. Yeah, he probably should ask, if this is all new to him.
"Well, I’ll take the lead, then, so just do as I say," I said, my voice firming, taking control.
"As you wish, Raphael." He responded instantly, his obedience unnerving and arousing all at once. I gently pushed him to the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking slightly under his weight. Slowly, deliberately, I unbuttoned his silk pajamas, the soft black fabric parting to reveal the pale skin beneath. He slled incredibly nice, clean and fresh, not like cologne, but like soap. He had a broad chest and toned, lean muscles beneath the silk. His skin was pale, almost translucent, so his nipples were a paleish pink, barely visible, tiny nubs. I grazed my hands over his chest, a light, teasing touch, feeling the warmth radiating from him. He was looking at , his eyes utterly unreactive, and I sensed he wasn't impressed, or perhaps, didn't react at all. I pinched and rubbed his nipples gently, the pads of my thumbs circling the sensitive nubs; he slightly squinted, a minuscule reaction, but a reaction nonetheless.
No, this isn’t enough. I want him to beg, with a flushed face, to show so raw, uncontrolled desire, to break through that impenetrable facade.
I leaned down, my tongue tracing the curve of his chest, a slow, wet path, then grazing his nipples, a delicate, teasing assault that sent shivers through . I sucked on his neck, my lips leaving a damp, tingling trail on his pale skin. That was when his breathing beca distinctly dysregulated, a faint gasp escaping him. Ah, look at , getting excited because he was breathing. It's the small victories. His warm breath was running along my spine, a delicious sensation, sending shivers through my own core. Which made really giddy too.
"Is there any particular action you would prefer I undertake?" he asked, his voice still even, despite his ragged breathing.
Which snapped back to the reality of his emotional detachnt. This guy was really not interested in himself at all, not even in this mont of mounting tension.
"Levi." I sat on his lap, straddling him, the silk of his pajamas sliding deliciously against my skin, and leaned close, whispering hotly into his ear, my breath caressing the sensitive skin. "You act high and mighty, but I can feel your dick under , getting ready." He turned his face away sharply.
"I find my ears to be rather sensitive; please provide a modicum of personal space."
I am not going to give you space when you tell these things you gorgeous, infuriating robot. "Oh, are they? I just licked your neck, didn’t even touch your dick yet." I started rubbing my ass against his growing erection, a slow, deliberate grind, reveling in the subtle friction, the heat building between us. I could feel his growing erection against , a hard, promising bulge pressing insistently. He did have a good size, a very good size.
"Raphael."
Ah, don’t say my na with that heavy, breathless voice of yours, it makes crave more. I nibbled his ear, a light, playful bite. He really did have sensitive ears; a shiver ran through his lean fra.
"You saying my na, especially like that, really turns on." I climbed fully onto the bed, pulling him with , the black silk pajamas rustling softly against the sheets. I undressed my robe slowly, deliberately, letting the soft fabric fall away to reveal my body, savoring the mont, then pulled him closer to , our bodies pressing together, skin against silk, heat against coolness. In a soft, commanding voice, I whispered, "Take your pants off." He did so, very obediently, almost chanically, his movents precise and unhurried.
I guess it was around ti he realized he needed to do sothing, to contribute to this unfolding act, to match my rising desire. He pried my legs open, his strong hands framing my thighs. Cold and slender fingers, surprisingly delicate despite their power, grazed between my thighs, a tantalizing brush. Then he touched my penis. It wasn’t a touch of eroticism. It was a curious touch like soone who had never seen a penis before, exploring its contours, its hidden potential.
"Hey, don’t squeeze it," I warned, a sharp edge to my voice. He looked at my eyes, and to my surprise, his eyes weren’t deadpan. They were rather curious.
He placed his middle finger on my hole, the tip pressing gently. "I have just trimd and manicured my nails; please apprise if you experience any discomfort." he said, his voice as formal as ever.
What? What? He trimd his nails for this? How cute.
He gently started pushing and pulling his finger out, a slow, thodical rhythm, exploring the tightness, drawing out the pleasure. "I see that you spent your ti in the shower well," he remarked, a faint hint of sothing like approval, or even amusent, in his voice. Oh, look at you getting cheeky, Levi. The bastard. He reached to the bedside drawer and, with a smooth, practiced motion, got out so lube and condoms, placing them neatly between us.
Oh wait, did he really have those in his drawer? I thought he wasn't the type to have one-night stands, or casual encounters, to be prepared for such spontaneity. Was this a pre-planned eventuality, a calculated consideration for every scenario? As my thoughts drifted, he pressed two fingers in, suddenly igniting the mont, a jolt of sharp, intense pleasure. Two fingers was fine, a comfortable stretch, but the third was a little bit too much for , a sharp edge of discomfort, a sudden tightening.
"Slow and gentle at first," I instructed, my voice strained, breathless. "I understand your experience cos from won, but vaginas and anuses are really different. You need to spend a lot more ti on foreplay, trust ."
"I understand, Raphael." He squeezed an extra dollop of lube onto his long, slender fingers, which then reached deeper than mine ever could, exploring my limits. After so moaning, which I tried to keep to myself, biting my lip, he said, his voice flat but a faint smile gracing his lips, "I am glad you are enjoying yourself."
He really must be glad.
He got closer to my face, his breath warm on my skin, his eyes still holding that curious glint, and said, his voice barely a whisper, a low rumble that vibrated through , "Raphael, as much as I appreciate your guidance, you should know, I would rather see you cum."
Hearing this man, who never swore, never ever made any dirty joke, acting like a pristine robot, suddenly saying the word "Cum," ripped from the surreal, sensual experience and sent plumting back to reality. The exhilarating, terrifying reality where I had actually stolen the Saint of Ascaria with my sheer, unadulterated lust. I did cum, a violent, unexpected release, a shuddering wave of pleasure. All he had done was so inexperienced fingering, but he was diligent, I must add, incredibly diligent. He got closer to my ear, his voice a low rumble, laced with a new, dark amusent, "You truly derive gratification from my use of expletives, Raphael."
Yeah, I actually fucking did! Because it felt like I was seeing sothing, probably no one has ever seen before, like he was giving a secret.
He pulled out, the sudden emptiness a startling sensation, then with precise movents, put on a condom and squeezed lube onto his penis. "Raphael, I bid you to be forthright in the future regarding your desires."
"What do you an by that, Levi?" I asked, confused, my voice still hoarse with arousal. He wrapped my legs around him, effortlessly, pulling tight against his hips, my body molding to his. He looked at , his deep blue eyes no longer deadpan, but holding a dark, knowing glint, a spark of sothing primal. Then, to my utter shock, he let a truly charming, almost predatory smile spread across his face, a genuine, terrifying flash of emotion that utterly consud .
"Wait, wha-" My breath hitched in my throat, cut off by his sudden action. He entered inside with a sudden, powerful, and really forceful thrust. It had been a while since I had sex, so I could feel myself stretching a lot, a sharp, exhilarating pain that bordered on ecstasy. "I said gentle-" I gasped, trying to pull away, the words muffled by the intensity.
He smiled again, that unnerving, real smile, his eyes burning into mine. "Raphael, you do not desire gentleness. You rely wish for to treat you with severity, do you not?"
"No! I don’t want that!" I protested, though the lie tasted like ash in my mouth, betraying my body's trembling surrender.
"Raphael, I have rely deviated from my conduct by a minuscule degree, and your physiology has already exhibited pronounced involuntary responses."
I fucking love it. I like it so much. It feels like actually getting to know Levi Blake, not just your dutiful, contractual husband, but the raw, unbridled force of him.
"I will do as you wish, Raphael." He pinned down from my wrists, his grip firm, unyielding, while slamming inside with a fervent, relentless pace, each thrust driving deeper into the mattress, deeper into sensation. He was picking up the pace, his breaths coming faster, harsher, but he really didn’t even flinch, his eyes remaining clear and focused on .
Let admit it, his dick was amazing, perfectly sized, his consistent pace, hitting the right spots all the ti, and slowing down precisely when you needed a breather—it was truly amazing. I was enjoying myself, thoroughly, completely consud, my body arching into his rhythm, but I wanted him to enjoy too, to break through that clinical veneer, to lose himself for a mont.
He was panting now, his breath hot on my face, mingling with my own ragged gasps, and I had already cum twice from him, the pleasure overwhelming, my body shaking with residual aftershocks. I could tell Levi was close too, the tension in his body palpable, every muscle coiled. "Do you wish to continue?" he asked, his voice strained but still formal. I actually wanted to, till the sun ca up and exposed his secrets, to drain every ounce of hidden desire from him. "Yeah, but let’s switch positions." I managed, my voice breathless, my body aching for more. He turned around, effortlessly.
Then this seed of curiosity, a dangerous, irresistible thought, crept into my brain. Whom did he learn how to fuck like this? No, snap out of it. Be grateful for the won—or whover—taught him. I was expecting him to continue in doggy style, but he pulled out, a sudden, jarring emptiness. I looked at him, bewildered, my head whipping around. "Why did you stop?"
He was busy with sothing, his back to , but I couldn’t tell what it was, the rhythmic shuffling of fabric, the quiet sounds of movent. "My apologies, the temperature of the room has beco excessively elevated; kindly allow to remove my attire."
Oh, I was so focused on myself, so lost in the pleasure, I didn’t even realize he was hot, literally, a furnace. He took his shirt off, revealing the pale, toned expanse of his back and shoulders, muscles rippling under his fair skin, and reached for a bottled water, taking a long, slow swallow. "Raphael." he said, his voice low, a deep rumble.
"Yeah?" I replied, my voice still husky, my body humming with anticipation.
"I apologize in advance for any discomfort I may cause."
What? What is he apologizing for? He pushed my face down to the pillow, a firm, unyielding pressure, pressing my head down, and re-entered with a primal force that took my breath away, a sudden, powerful thrust. His pace wasn't like before; it was rciless, a relentless, deep thrusting that plunged into . It was taking everything from not to cum again, the sensation too intense, too overwhelming, pushing to the brink. I struggled to talk and breathe, the pillow muffling my voice, my desperate gasps for air. But, his forceful grip on my head, using as he pleased, driving into with unbridled power—yes, it was undeniably good.
It was head-spinning good. Also, I couldn’t get enough oxygen, the pressure on my head making lightheaded, my vision blurring at the edges. But it reminded of getting choked while fucking, so I was cool with it, strangely aroused by the loss of control. Then he placed his broad chest on my back, a heavy, warm weight, going slower but deeper, his previously unshakable rhythm now crumbling, shuddering, building to a furious crescendo. He was going to cum. My legs were trembling uncontrollably, he was breathing hard down my neck, his body slick with sweat, every muscle strained. I wanted to see his face, to witness the climax that had eluded before, to see him truly lose control. I tried to turn my head around, to catch a glimpse.
He closed my eyes with his hands, his fingers firm against my eyelids, pressing down. And then, we both finished, a simultaneous, explosive release, our bodies shuddering in unison. "Raphael, close your eyes." His voice, though breathless, was still a command.
"Why, are you shy? I already saw your body, Levi," I taunted, breathless but defiant, trying to push him.
"I am not shy; however, if you do not desire to be complicit, I will ensure that you are unable to see."
What was that? A threat? Did he just threaten ? A rush of ice-cold fear washed over , a sudden, chilling realization, my mind racing through dark possibilities of what he might do next if I disobeyed. I was in my own fantasy for a while, imagining him throwing acid on or sothing equally horrific, but the fear was real, potent, visceral. This wasn't him humoring . This was an order, unyielding and absolute. I squeezed my eyes shut, my jaw tight, my body tensing. I could feel his gaze on , even through my closed eyelids.
He got out of bed, the mattress shifting with his weight, and shuffled around the room. I could hear the faint rustling of fabric, the soft movents, the sounds of him regaining his composure. He was clothing himself. He was fully clothed, dressed once more in his black silk pajamas, when he finally told to open my eyes. He sat on the edge of the bed and started rustling my hair gently.
"Why did you want to close my eyes?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, still trembling slightly.
"There was sothing that should not have been seen by you."
What do you an by that? I couldn't say it out loud this ti, the words caught in my throat, paralyzed by a new, deeper fear. I could feel his shadow looming over again, cold and imposing, even though he was several feet away.
I was wrong about him. He wasn’t a sheep in wolf clothing. He was a lion, a predator of the highest order, hiding around prey by design, observing, calculating. I was uncomfortable and scared of him, truly, deeply afraid. He got off the bed again and reached for , his hand extended. "Do you wish to take a bath, or would you prefer I cleanse you?"
If I told him I don’t want him to take , that I wanted to escape, he would get suspicious, those dead eyes would sharpen, seeing right through . If he wiped , touched again, I would get even more scared, and he would notice, he would know.
"Yeah, take to the shower," I said, forcing a casualness I didn't feel, a desperate attempt at normalcy, "but I don’t wanna sleep here. Your sheets are, uh, covered in cum and sweat."
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