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The creak of the door wasn't loud enough to rouse Charles from where he sat, hunched forward at the edge of the mattress with his big hands clasped between his knees, callused thumbs rubbing a slow, nervous rhythm against each other. He didn’t look up when the floorboard groaned behind him. Didn't have to.
Luca was always barefoot when he padded in like that. Always quiet, except when he wanted to be noticed.
“Hey, Charles,” came the voice—soft, lazy, curling at the edges like smoke off a half-burnt wire. Luca dragged the syllables out, drawing attention to each one with a kind of idle wickedness that made Charles's shoulders twitch. “You still sulking? Or just practicing being a statue?”
Charles swallowed hard. His mouth was dry. “I wasn’t… I’m not sulking.”
“You sure?” The bed dipped under a sudden weight—Luca, climbing up behind him with that feline grace of his, too light for how much space he could take up. He flopped sideways, one leg draping over Charles’s lap without ceremony, ankle brushing too close to the crotch of his trousers. “Could’ve fooled me. Been sittin’ here like somebody kicked your puppy.”
Charles shifted. Not enough to shake the leg off, but enough that he could feel the way Luca smirked against the nape of his neck. Warm breath, faintly sweet—ajvar, maybe, or whatever strange thing Luca had been sneaking from the pantry again. “I’m just… thinking.”
Luca hummed. A non-answer of his own. He stretched like a cat behind him, shirt riding up just enough for Charles to catch a glimpse of pale skin, the faint line of a scar or old burn near his ribcage. “Mm. Dangerous pastime, that. Thinking. Might start feeling things next.”
“I already feel things,” Charles muttered, immediately regretting the admission.
“Oh?” There it was again—Luca’s voice sharpening, brightening like a live wire touched to copper. “What kinda things, Charlie?”
He hated that nickname. Hated how Luca used it like a pry bar, always finding the softest part to wedge himself into.
Luca sat up behind him, arms slinking around Charles’s shoulders, fingers spreading over his chest like he was taking a measurement. Or planting a claim.
“You know, if you keep ignoring me,” Luca whispered, lips grazing the shell of his ear, “I might start thinking you’re trying to resist.”
“I’m not—”
“Mm-mm,” Luca interrupted, teeth grazing just enough to make Charles freeze. “See, that right there? That whimper?” His hand slid lower. “That’s not resistance, sweetheart. That’s permission.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“You never do.” Luca’s hand was on his belt now, nimble fingers tugging at the worn leather. “But you let me. Every time. Makes me think you like it when I’m bad.”
“I don’t—” Charles tried again, but his voice cracked, too thin to carry even the weight of his own denial.
Luca pulled back just enough to lean around and look at him. Really look. That damaged eye half-lidded, lashes thick and too long, making him seem softer than he was. “You’re not gonna stop me, are you?”
Silence stretched between them like filament—tense, vibrating with a current that hadn’t snapped yet but could at any second.
Charles closed his eyes. Shook his head. “I want this.”
Luca didn’t laugh. He didn’t smile either. He just leaned in, warm and close and smug, and said, “That’s what I thought.”
The belt came undone with a slow, practiced tug. Fingers slid beneath the waistband, exploratory at first, then certain. Bold.
And Charles—poor, trembling Charles—sank lower on the mattress, legs spreading without him meaning to, his breath hitching as Luca’s hand curled around him.
“You make this too easy,” Luca said, voice honey-thick, half-mocking. “Where’s your backbone, aeroplanist? Thought you were supposed to be brave.”
Charles wanted to say something. Anything. But all he managed was a broken sound and a buck of his hips.
Luca grinned against his throat. “Guess I’ll just keep teasing until you remember how to speak.”
“Mmh. There it is,” Luca murmured, almost attentive , as he eased Charles back by the shoulders until his spine met the mattress with a dull creak of protest. He went easy, even though Charles could’ve easily resisted. But Charles didn’t resist. He never did. Not with him.
Charles was breathing hard now, flushed deep in the face, the beard on his jaw damp with sweat. His bangs stuck to his forehead in loose clumps, and Luca reached to brush them aside with slow fingers, dragging his nails through the tangled mess until Charles shuddered from the attention.
“You always smell like you’ve been working,” Luca whispered, straddling one of Charles’s massive thighs now. “All that oil and dust. Heat and metal. Sweat.” He bent forward, deliberately slow, and dragged the tip of his nose along the curve where neck met shoulder. He inhaled deep.
Charles jerked, his hands flying up instinctively—then stalling halfway, just hovering in the air like he didn’t know what to do with them.
Luca grinned against his skin. “Don’t hold back on my account.”
The scent was intoxicating . Charles always smelled like man . That thick musk that clung beneath the arms and chest, earthy and unwashed, laced with oil and the faint iron sting of soldering metal. It got stronger the closer you got to the base of his neck, that salt-musk tang he could never completely scrub off no matter how many times he bathed. And the idiot tried so hard—shaved until his skin chafed, lathered up with soap until he didn’t smell like himself anymore.
Luca hated that. He wanted all of it raw. Real.
He fisted both hands into the front of Charles’s shirt and yanked it up—no, off—dragging the stiff cotton over the engineer’s broad chest and head with impatient hands. It clung where the sweat had soaked through, and Charles winced as it peeled away. Luca flung it to the floor and sat back to admire his prize.
God, he was hairy . Thick dark curls coated his chest, trailing down his belly and lower. His pecs rose and fell like slow, shuddering bellows, and sweat glistened in the furrows between his ribs. His arms were flushed red, the hair matted down in places. His hands—still hovering—trembled.
“Fuck, look at you,” Luca whispered, almost breathless. “You’re like some mountain beast. Hair and heat and... God.” He leaned down and dragged his tongue flat across Charles’s chest, savoring the salt and the stink of him. When he reached a nipple, he sucked hard without warning—bit, just a little—and Charles moaned , hips twitching up beneath him.
“Sensitive?” Luca teased, licking the same spot. “No wonder you get all pink when I breathe on you.”
Charles groaned, and his hands finally came to rest—one on Luca’s back, the other buried in his hair.
Luca ducked lower. He mouthed at Charles’s stomach, bit the skin just above the waistband of his trousers, nuzzled into the trail of hair that led down, down—
—and paused.
“Wanna see it,” he murmured, tugging at the buttons with greedy, twitchy fingers. “Wanna see what you’re hiding from me.”
Charles made a soft noise. Not quite a protest. More like a whimper of overwhelmed consent.
Luca undid the pants and pulled them open. And there it was.
He couldn’t stop the sound he made—a strangled, delighted breath that cracked into laughter.
“ Fuck , Charlie.”
Thick. Veiny. Curved just enough to ache. Heavy enough it slapped against his thigh when freed. And hairy , too—coarse dark curls surrounded it like an overgrown garden, clinging damp where sweat had collected.
Luca curled a hand around it—barely fit his fingers around the base. It pulsed against his palm.
“You could split me open with this,” Luca whispered, eyes gone dark, glassy with arousal. “And I want you to. I want that. Want all of it.”
Charles whimpered, tried to close his legs. Luca stopped him with a sharp look.
“Don’t even think about hiding from me.”
Then he bent down and breathed —right there, mouth so close his lips brushed the head. Charles shuddered. His thighs trembled.
“You smell so fucking good,” Luca whispered, like a confession. “I could get drunk on it.”
And then his mouth was on him. Warm, wet, eager. Not gentle. Greedy . He sucked the head with shameless hunger, letting saliva drip, coating the shaft, using both hands to work what his mouth couldn’t reach. He groaned around it, noise vibrating down to the root. Charles cried out—half-formed, choked-off—and bucked up.
“L-Luca—fuck—I—I can’t—”
But Luca didn’t stop. He moaned around him, messy and loud, sucking until his lips ached. Then pulled off with a wet pop, face flushed and glistening.
“I wanna ride it,” he said, voice wrecked and shameless. “I want you inside me, Charles. Deep. So deep I’ll feel it every time I sit down.”
Charles whimpered something into his hands. His face was red. His cock twitched, dripping.
“Good,” Luca purred. “You’re gonna give it to me. You’re gonna stay inside me, and when I start begging? You don’t pull out.”
Charles looked like he might die. Or cry. Or both.
Perfect. Exactly where Luca wanted him.
Luca didn’t wait for permission—didn’t need it. He’d already mapped out every tremble in Charles’s body like a codebook, every half-stifled groan, every tightening of those big hands into fists. The silence spoke louder than any yes ever could. And besides, Charles never stopped him. Never told him no. Even now, as Luca swung a leg over his waist and settled down with agonizing slowness, Charles just gasped and took it —eyes wide behind his bangs, mouth parted like he was struggling to breathe right.
The stretch burned, delicious and punishing all at once. Luca hissed between his teeth, his hands digging into Charles’s sweat-slick chest for leverage.
“F-fuck, you’re big,” he breathed, voice trembling with something between awe and filth. “God, I can feel every inch of you—every vein—”
Charles let out a sound like a sob, his hands gripping Luca’s hips now, but not guiding—no, he never took control, even when Luca begged him to. He just held on like he might fall apart otherwise.
And Luca loved it. Loved watching someone that massive, someone built like a goddamn cliff face, melt underneath him.
He rocked forward experimentally, still adjusting, the pressure just this side of overwhelming. His thighs quivered with effort. Charles’s cock—impossibly thick—dragged against every nerve as Luca shifted, and he couldn’t help it—he let out a wrecked little moan and ground down harder, chasing the angle that scraped perfect inside him.
“Ohh—shit— there —right fucking there—” His voice broke into laughter. Wild, breathless, high off the way it hurt and felt good all at once.
Charles looked up at him like he was something unholy. Like he couldn’t believe he was being allowed to watch this, feel this. He’d gone still, like he thought if he moved, it would ruin everything.
Luca leaned forward, bracing himself with one hand against Charles’s chest. His fingers curled through the dense hair there, sticky with sweat.
“You like this?” he whispered, his face inches away. “You like being used, big man?”
Charles made a broken noise.
“I bet you do,” Luca continued, breath ghosting over his mouth. “Bet you’ve thought about it. Me on top of you. Using you. Getting off on your cock like I own it.”
“Luca—please—” Charles’s voice cracked, rough and low.
“Please what ?” Luca’s grin was cruel. “Please stop ? Or please don’t ?”
“I—I don’t know—”
Luca sank down hard. Charles cried out . The air left his lungs in a hoarse gasp.
“That’s what I thought.”
He started to move in earnest then. Slow at first—slow enough to drag it out, to feel everything. Every inch of Charles’s dick filled him, stretched him, rubbed deep against the parts that made his vision go white at the edges. His own cock bounced untouched between them, already weeping.
Each time he came down, Charles made another sound— pitiful , breathless little whimpers, like he was being split open just from being inside Luca.
“You’re so fuckin’ easy,” Luca murmured, sweat dripping from his chin onto Charles’s chest. “So good . My good boy. You gonna cum for me?”
Charles shook his head, like he didn’t want to admit it. But his cock twitched inside Luca with every grind, and his breathing was turning shallow, erratic.
Luca leaned close again, lips just grazing Charles’s ear now. He bit the lobe, then soothed the sting with his tongue. “Do it,” he whispered. “Cum in me. Fill me up. I want it. I want your cum, Charles.”
And that— that broke him.
Charles choked out a desperate moan, loud and ragged, and his hips bucked once, twice , then he went rigid beneath Luca, whole body shuddering like a felled tree. His hands grabbed Luca’s waist tight enough to bruise.
Luca gasped at the warmth—at the sheer amount of it. It pulsed deep inside him, hot and messy and endless. He kept moving, wringing every last drop out of him, clenching and grinding until Charles was a shaking wreck underneath him.
And then Luca came—without ever touching himself—his back arching, mouth open in a silent cry, thighs trembling as his body locked up with the force of it. His own release smeared hot across Charles’s stomach and chest.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Just the sound of their breathing. The wet, obscene noises of their bodies still locked together. Luca’s chest rising and falling against Charles’s, still impaled on his softening cock.
Finally, Luca slumped forward and rested his head on Charles’s shoulder. His breath ghosted hot and uneven against his skin.
“You stink,” he whispered, voice fond.
Charles let out a hoarse, broken laugh.
Luca smiled against his neck. “Don’t ever wash it off.”