Midas Ears – Chapter 7

!Explicit mature content!


“I am super-hetero,” he laughed, “perhaps more than I would like. I’m in peace with myself,” he laughed harder, “a harmonious hetero!”

Furqan didn’t say a word while they walked home. He didn’t dare, nipping his lips the entire time. If he said something, he knew it would irreversibly change things between them.

“Mr. Perfect!” hammered in his head, “Mr I’m-so-relaxed-and-happy!”

Furqan watched Anton push the key inside the lock and turn it. He was in good mood. Leftover affection, he liked to call it.

“You’ve been so out,” Anton started, “are you…”

He felt Arabian’s hand grab his left shoulder and it forced him around. It wasn’t friendly. There was thick coat between his fingers and Anton’s flesh, but it didn’t matter.

Next was the fist gushing through the air, hitting him in his chest and he fell through the doorway, plastic flying off from his hand and made a loud bang.

He expected Furqan to pull back, wait if there was any rude interference from Rosh, but instead he was forced to block another fist on his way.

He wanted to ask what was wrong, but he didn’t get the chance. He grabbed Furqan’s hand, forcing it to change course. This left Furqan’s left hand free and not a moment soon he stepped back and locked that hand too. This was a mistake, because the second he concentrated on the left, his right hand pulled free and clanged to his jacket and pulled him against his cold, rain covered topcoat.

Greek was fully aware now the rage he was carrying in him. Yet he kept silent, too great was his fear for the freak next door, but right now he didn’t care of his fears. He looked rather good, breathing fast through his mouth. He nosed closer, touching slightly his nose, but the kiss didn’t happen. The Greek didn’t understand! He resisted his touch, replying with lash over his left cheek.

Anton tried to push him away, getting free for a second, but realized then Furqan hadn’t even jilt.

Furqan face crunched in heavy mask and he responded with crashing in him, ramming him through entry, through kitchen and straight in the middle bedroom, on Anton’s bed. He lost his footing and landed on the bed, Furqan on top. He knew he was heavy, the slimmer man had no chance getting away and that’s what he wanted. Him, slammed between his coated body and his blue striped bedclothes.

He had him cornered, his arms firmly between his elbows, wrists gathered in his left fist.

He watched his eyes flip between him and the wall against the bed was. On the other side slept Roshan, eager ears prepared for any sound that could interrupt his early morning dreams.

He turned his eyes back to Anton.

So he was the ladies’ man, he crunched his teeth, the one who needed some “action”?

“Try convincing me you’re straight while you enjoy me jerking you off!” he crushed him with his weight. “Try!”

His clutched hardened he jerked him in better hold, from which he couldn’t get away even if he tried. He pulled his right hand free and pulled the upper button of his black coat free. He still smelled of his aftershave and it irritated him. Why did he always have to sink his body into that scent?

He knew he wouldn’t say anything and he smiled. By the time I’m finished, you will smile only when you’re far away from me, he promised to himself and freed the next button. He had to change the hold on his hands and opened the piece of plastic from its strains under them. Fourth and fifth and the last one popped open by itself.

He shifted his weight a bit, pushing his coat away from his sight, quietly exploring the athletic body with his fingers. They traveled smoothly over his side before running under his blue checkered shirt. Anton’s body reacted, stiffen up, pulling quiet sob from his lips.

Furqan’s eyes flew to his face and seeing he was again nipping his lower lip, he responded with wicked smile. You’ll learn, he promised, you’ll learn.

He turned back to his exploration and massaged his side with his huge hand. He wanted him to relax, even if he didn’t fully enjoy what was about to happen.

God he was fine piece of art. Like one of those ideal paintings one could find in the classical era – beautiful and athletic, greatly built muscles bending under his touch.

He changed the pressure and moved on to his stomach, now only brushing gently his skin. His breathing changed into rapid gasps for air. He felt his shirt being moved away from his waist line and that made him try to pull free.

But Furqan wouldn’t’ have it. He snatched his any opportunity by rolling himself off for a second and pulling him lower before rolling back on him, this time his waist neatly lined with his.

He locked his eyes in Anton’s and he stopped fidgeting. No escape, his eyes said, none whatsoever.

Furqan retained his look while his right hand moved between them, only slightly raising his hips to release him from his shabby black belt. He took his time, slipping his fingers between his legs, gently brushing over his manhood before crunching his fist around it through his pants. This entire time he kept his eyes on Anton’s face, enjoying every emotion that flew through it, changing with each move his fingers made.

Tears ran down from his big lashes. Furqan didn’t notice them before he saw one flicker on his lighter skin. This gave him power and instead of taking it easier, he felt his own staff painfully locked away. But this wasn’t his turn.

Knot tightening in his stomach made his hand press it harder and less than a minute he felt his mount stiffen.

He almost snorted from disgust. So he hadn’t been so available as he claimed either.

He felt how he tried to get away again, nudging him with knees, but he pushed them down with raw force and locked them back under his ties.

He paused, crunching his body from every possible direction to make him understand he was not letting him go. He saw from his eyes he resented this, but the lesson was only half way.

When Anton was relaxing a bit, he turned his attention back on the mount and started undoing his jeans and pulling down his briefs to let his cock free.

He felt the heat radiating from it and the moment his hands touched his staff, Anton’s eyes closed.

Oh no you don’t! He immediately released his cock and slapped him, forcing his eyes open. Having again his full attention, he lowered his hand and grabbed hold again of the prize.

At first he just held it, feeling the heart beat running through it. He closed his fingers slowly, closing the veins on the staff, freeing them again only when Anton’s face assimilated pain he would have yelled out. He did it several times, before getting good grip and starting pumping. Slow and painfully, lowering his own body, so his dick would go against his groin each time he pulled it upwards.

He observed the changes in his face, the pleasant pain that made his cheekbones rise a bit with each scraping against his jeans and the jarred teeth, which showed his resentment to entire experience. He could lie to himself, Furqan knew, he can tell himself whatever he wanted, but his body replied exactly as expected.

He felt his chest rising faster and his head tilt back a little, but instead of helping this to end, he slowed, removing his hand altogether. He secured himself with it on his side and started rhythmically moving his hips against his flesh, close as possible, as painfully as possible. He wanted him to suffer.

It worked and his knees rose on each side of him a bit, searching for better position to push him off. His grimace was showing no signs of pleasure anymore and it sobered him a bit. He crushed down between his legs, crashing his right leg under him and using his hand to push down the other as well. He felt sweat breaking out on his forehead and saw the same on Anthon’s. He knew he had to hasten it up or he’d fall in his own trap.

He waited for a while, before removing the hand from his hip and pushing it towards his dick. Slowly he pulled his hip up enough to start massaging it again. He touched it. It was still stiff, though the feverish heat meant it was already quite bruised. Instead he let his hand slide and, taking his time played around it. He deliberately kept away from his staff, but with Anton’s eyes closing and his hasty breathing he knew Anton couldn’t wish this away any longer.

Just a slight touch on the root and he sensed it rise again. He didn’t stop this time, slowly pulsating his hold around it, while seeking aggressively Greek’s lips. He didn’t reply right away, but realizing this was only way to keep himself quiet, he resigned. Furqan forced his hold into a fist, crushing his cock enough to pull cry from Anton’s lips and though he managed to muffle it from their neighbor, he still had to let his lips go to allow him to breathe.

When he managed to look at him again, he was in pain. Hands he was holding had turned into fists and it was almost impossible for him to move.

He smiled, to assure him his ordeal was almost over, and give his cock few more heavy pushes, adding to his suffering.

All of a sudden Anton’s muscles stiffened and he felt him arch under him, pushing him up before the load hit his jacket.

He let him go the moment it was over. He kneeled there long enough to search handkerchief from his pocket and climbed over his leg. He cleaned his fingers methodically while gazing on the side how Anton coped with it. He was still heavily breathing, gulping few times to wet his mouth again.

Furqan left immediately, tossing the fabric to his stomach. He wasn’t smiling anymore, but neither did he feel better. He got his lesson, but he didn’t enjoy giving it.

Suddenly he came to a rigid stop staring face to face with Rosh, who was standing few steps from the door, holding his water glass.

Furqan was first to get his movement back and he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. He frowned harsh, giving him every opportunity to understand his petty situation – either to keep this to himself or die. Rosh gulped hard, getting the message, and disappeared in bathroom.

“Fuck.” He whispered under his breath. Out of all, this was not what he wanted.



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