“What are you hoping for, Moe?” Manny breathed intimately into his ear, slyly inching closer to the pensive Moe, posing a question that had lingered in the air for quite some time.
And indeed, what was he hoping for? Moe tensed, caught off guard; for a moment, he thought he might have spoken aloud to himself, and Manny had simply overheard his muddled musings. With the contract nearing its end and no renewal from Einar, continuing to stay at the Simmons mansion seemed futile. Moe didn't anticipate a permanent job—why would he? Manny was functioning quite competently, even going so far as to prove he was not a brainless teenager but a fully capable adult handling any life challenges, not only academic. Since Moe's return to their home, Manny hadn't gone on a reckless spree- no fleeing from bodyguards, no endangering his life—basically, he was behaving impeccably. It could be argued that Moe had fulfilled his mission and could proudly depart.
Their peculiar dynamic with Einer intensified following that return- Einer didn't allow him to retreat to the gardener's cottage, wittily dubbing it a doghouse; he stayed in the main house, accommodating Moe's preference for sleeping on the floor, disregarding the inviting bed. Occasionally, he brazenly invited Moe to share his bed, demonstrating that even a successful businessman could engage in passionate intimacy after a long day's work. And what about Moe? Moe was all in favor, enthusiastically embracing the opportunity- turned on at the first touch and willingly following Einer, although at times, he felt an inexplicable longing to escape from the mansion and the city, seeking solace in the middle of nowhere, far from warm gray eyes, persistent lips, and eager hands. The sensation of losing himself grew more acute, yet he found himself paradoxically drawn to Einar with increasing intensity.
On the delicate matter of personal issues, they steered clear henceforth. It was evident that reopening the topic would prompt Einar to reciprocate, urging him to divulge his inner thoughts, a prospect that seemed both impossible and daunting. Why should he? Who were they to each other, warranting such vulnerability and soul-baring? Nobodies. Merely bed warmers, alleviating loneliness and physical tension through banal sex. The internal turmoil created a fog that clouded rational thinking, and Moe simply bided his time, poised to pack up and venture into a world that now appeared even colder and more inhospitable than it had been in the past few months.
Einar remained silent.
Manny observed.
Moe waited.
Life continued its course, demanding Manny's earnestness and his attention to his own destiny. This made Moe feel somewhat settled, akin to being at home. Einar faced new challenges, seemingly quite serious ones, as security measures were heightened- the entourage of bodyguards expanded, a new surveillance system was implemented around the residence's perimeter, and Moe and Manny underwent an intensive month-long self-defense training. Moe effortlessly navigated the training, while Manny struggled, favoring bulkier yet less effective muscles over a lean, sinewy, and robust physique. Dan, the head of security, squinted curiously, observing a panting and sweaty Moe wiping his face after a hand-to-hand combat training session.
"Where did you learn Krav Maga, Moe?"
“In the back alleys. If you're interested, I can give you the address, they give krav maga and boxing lessons.” Moe smirked, grabbing the water bottle and feigned a relaxed turn, swallowing down a nervous lump.
Einer had posed the same question that very night, lying beside him after another intense training session, more tender and amiable, and added, “In your profile, Moe, I did not see mentions of such training. And it's not typically offered to the general public because it's reserved for especially critical situations.”
“What sort of critical situations can we face, I wonder?” Moe leaned a hand on his cheek, smiling skeptically - he was confident Einar would sidestep the topic. And indeed, Einar did, momentarily lowering his gaze.
“Just a precaution. There's a company that has been trying to undermine our business for a while, and they might resort to drastic measures. Consider it a hypothetical scenario that will likely never transpire. So, where did you…?”
Moe sighed, leaning down to quiet Einar's overly chatty mouth with a kiss. His hand slid down to his cock, gently squeezing to achieve the perfect balance of hardness and distraction. Einar willingly joined in the distraction. Pulling Moe onto himself, he squeezed his buttocks, rubbing his hardening cock between them and pushing against his entrance slowly, releasing a long moan. Moe followed suit, initially moving lazily and punctuating his motions with kisses. However, as the intensity increased, he became more engaged. Sitting up straight, he caressed his nipples, displaying his desire, supported only by his trembling legs. He relished the sight of Einar biting his lip and thrusting his hips upward for deeper penetration. Fully immersed in the moment, Moe leaned back, placing his hands on Einar's knees, spreading his legs wider, and thrusting with a wet slap, aware that Einar could see every detail- his ready to burst cock, bouncing with each thrust, his tightening balls, and the tightly clinging swollen pink opening around Einar's cock.
Sex served as a constant distraction and silencer, offering a temporary escape where they could momentarily forget their troubles, unite as one, and experience a fleeting sense of closeness. However, once the moment passed, that delicate sensation dissipated into the air. Moe retreated to his room, imposing a self-restriction on lingering. Additional closeness seemed unnecessary; they existed as distinct planets orbiting in opposite directions.
Einer lingered assertively in the primary orbit, while Moe flickered on the periphery of the galaxy's darkest void. There was no bridge connecting them.
Indeed, harboring a vague hope that the enjoyable dynamics beneath their connection would remain unchanged proved futile. Moe eventually answered, "I don't understand what you're talking about."
"You know exactly what you mean," Manny's voice dropped, carrying a sense of gravity. "Here, take a look at this." Brazenly resting his chin on Moe's shoulder, he wrapped his arm around Moe's back and presented the iPhone screen in front of Moe's face with his other hand.
"What's going on?" Moe's voice suddenly turned hoarse, a grating sound emanating from his dry throat. His gaze fixed on the news, which seemed to have a profound impact on his nervous system.
"Einer is going to propose to Eddie Johnson. He is a model; you must have seen him in Calvin Klein ads," the hand on his stomach stirred to life, moving in a slow, soothing stroke. "He's also part of our social circle, the son of Einer’s business partner. Their business is not as large as ours, but it is a bioengineering company and it is about to take off.”
"So?" Moe attempted to speak in a regular tone, yet his breath still wheezed, and his infuriating body twitched, refusing to comply, seemingly tethered in place while his soul yearned for escape.
“You have no chance with him,” Manny set his smartphone aside and abruptly turned Moe to face him, shaking him by the shoulders. Moe absentmindedly observed that Manny had subtly grown in the past six months, now standing a few centimeters taller than him. “But with me…”
"Back off," Moe thawed at the unwelcome proposition, flaring with anger. He pushed away with effort. "Choose an omega your own age, Manny, and don't set your sights on an old beta. First, you can't have me, and second, you might just kiss your balls goodbye."
“I have feelings for you!” Manny exclaimed desperately, his face turning red as he stepped into Moe's path. “I genuinely like you, can't you see? Meanwhile, he's just taking advantage of you! Secretly fucking you while dating someone else! And he's planning to marry him, not you!”
“Relax, I didn’t expect him to marry me," Moe reassured Manny with a pat on the shoulder, adopting a deliberately casual demeanor before sidestepping. “But I won't be marrying you either, you little brat.”
Instead of responding, Manny lunged towards him, catching Moe off guard and slamming him into the wall with a forceful thrust. Moe's cheekbone crashed into the wall, eliciting a grunt from him. Red streaks blurred into his clenched eyes, and his cheekbone throbbed with sharp pain. Despite the agony, it didn't grant him strength. Instead, the image of a smiling Einar with an equally handsome, delicate blond man gently pressed against him burned into Moe's retinas.
Moe found himself pinned against the warm, solid body, sensing unwanted groping and pawing. Warm breath brushed against his neck as unintelligible whispers filled the air. In his dazed state, Moe attempted to grasp the obvious fact that he was hurt and hurt badly.
The strategy of physical closeness combined with emotional detachment, which had never failed him before and allowed him to feel immune to others' attempts to possess, encroach on his emotions, or take control, suddenly proved ineffective. Pressing his throbbing, heated cheek against the wall, Moe took deep breaths and retraced the past few months in his mind. He had always believed that the comfortable arrangement he had established, a physical exchange where personal matters were avoided, offered him safety. However, it became clear that he had been subtly deceiving himself. Einar had dismantled all his defense mechanisms with a playful touch, not only penetrating his body but also reaching deep into his soul with strong, comforting embraces after sex – the ritualistic expressions of commitment, passing kisses upon returning home, lingering eye contact in bed that was both reassuring and unsettling, and intertwined fingers in the car when they happened to be heading in the same direction.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
They had navigated their connection without words, neglecting to define their roles or understand the stage they were at in their peculiar bond. Moe, carelessly assuming that spoken communication was the adhesive that bound people together, remained oblivious to the trap he had walked into.
Caught off guard by a fervent and agitated Manny, whose actions escalated, delving fingers beneath his clothes, Moe stared blankly at the intricately drawn orchid petals on the silk wallpaper. He found himself unable to break away and halt the intrusion until an irate voice cut through the air, “What's going on?”
Manny flinched to the unexpected turn of events, quickly composing himself without distancing from Moe. He responded with a dry tone, “Leave us alone, Einer. We're... we're just talking.”
“You leave us alone,” Einer advanced a few steps towards them, with both still propped up against the wall in a rather awkward pose. He effortlessly pushed Manny aside and redirected Moe to face him. “What's going on, Moe? Care to explain?” he touched cold fingers to Moe's cheekbone, eliciting a sharp, painful reaction. “Shit! Did Manny hit you?”
Moe gazed at him- anxious, irritated, expecting an answer. He stood at a distance that was neither close enough to comfort Moe nor far enough to not to shield him from the possessive instincts of another alpha. Despite his usual eloquence, Moe remained silent. Manny, casting a guilty glance at Moe, explained, “It was unintentional. I misjudged my strength.”
“Idiot," Einer dryly summed up. “Go get an ice pack, do not just stand here.”
Manny shifted uncomfortably on the spot, hesitating to leave. He still clung to a faint hope of having the typically talkative and resistant Moe to himself, then he stomped his foot and hurried downstairs.
“Why aren't you speaking?” Einer furrowed his brow in frustration. “Are you embarrassed? That's not like you. Why did you allow Manny to touch you like that? Give me an answer!”
“I didn't let him,” Moe puckered his mischievous lips, inhaling the fresh sea breeze with each breath. He gazed dimly into Einer's piercing gray eyes and placed his palm on Einer's chest, distancing himself.
“You allowed it,” Einer grumbled begrudgingly. “Who do you think you're fooling? You could have effortlessly subdued him, but instead, you opted to stand there- neither encouraging nor resisting. What kind of game are you playing?”
“I am not playing any games,” Moe grimaced, sensing the bruise. “Just a bit disoriented, that's all. Spare me your suspicions and lectures, Einar.”
Manny rushed back into the living room, holding an ice pack - flushed from running, standing tensely straight - and approached Moe, gently applying the ice pack to his cheekbone.
“I'm sorry, Moe. I didn't realize I hit you,” he sighed apologetically, acknowledging, "It's going to bruise; you have sensitive skin," and awkwardly stroked his chin with his thumb.
“Go to your room, Manny,” Einar wedged himself between them, gently pushing his brother aside. “We need to talk.”
“We don't,” Moe, suddenly feeling exhausted, rose from his seat and headed towards the stairs. “I'll go to my room too; I don't feel well.”
“Moe," Einer softened, wrapping his arm around Moe's shoulders from behind. “Why didn't you mention it earlier? Let's go to my place, and you can rest there. Are you unwell?” Without waiting for an answer, he sternly addressed glowering Manny, who was still standing there. “I said, go to your room! Don't you dare bother Moe; he's not your plaything!”
“I never treated him as a plaything, unlike you!” Manny erupted with a shout. “You're the one who treats him like... like a doormat! You use him, you have sex with him, you harbor expectations, all while dating someone else and planning to get married! What do you plan to do with Moe once you're married? Keep him around for your pleasure or just kick him out”?
“You're meddling in an adult relationship without understanding, Manny!” Einar, releasing Moe, delivered a resounding slap—a blow intended to humiliate and put him in his place. Manny staggered back, growling fiercely, immediately retaliating with a straight punch. It seemed he had honed his fighting skills.
The brothers clashed, traversing the Persian carpet with swift steps, evading and throwing punches, creating a thunderous atmosphere. Moe, without turning towards the commotion, proceeded slowly toward the stairs, pressing an ice pack to his cheek—don't care, don't care, don't care. He needed to retreat to his refuge, nurse his wounds, regain composure, shield himself behind a sarcastic facade, and simply wait for the conflict to subside. No more emotionally charged glances, meaningful silences, or warm embraces—don't be foolish, Moe, this guy isn't right for you.
He retreated to his room, sinking onto the mattress, fixating on the ceiling, loosening his grip on the ice pack. Placing his wrist, adorned with a watch, in front of his eyes, he intentionally directed his thoughts far away—to the languidly warm streets of Singapore. There, magnolias were in full bloom, cheerful yellow coconuts hung from palm trees, the surf whispered softly, and he strolled along the seafront, enjoying the serene view. A hesitant knock on the door resonated distantly in another reality, a familiar voice sounded muffled, as if heard through thick layers cotton. Moe merely shifted onto his side, finding comfort, extending his hand with the watch to keep the small dial in view—come on, gather yourself, cast aside thoughts of Einar, and rebuild yourself into a complete whole.
He drew his knees up to his stomach as Einar, using the master key to enter the room, joined him on the mattress.
“How are you feeling? Should I call a doctor?”
“No need, I'm okay. Just a headache; it'll pass,” Moe focused on the watch dial, anchoring himself and preventing a breakdown.
“What happened today, Moe?” Einar rustled his jacket as he took it off. “Did Manny startle you again with the fire?”
The reminder of that recent exposure, the unveiling of a concealed fear, accentuated his own vulnerability. Moe shivered with shame, realizing how naive he had been to believe he could still linger in the shadows, avoiding the unambiguous definition of his intricate identity. Chaotic images rushed through his mind- Manny, tantalizingly hinting at a surprise, blindfolded him and guided him into the cold winter garden. Moe, indulgently chuckling, was prepared for anything, even a playful joke. However, upon removing the blindfold, he was met with a profound shock as he stood in front of a towering, cheerful fire in the stone hearth. Picnic baskets, blankets, and folding chairs were faintly visible in the dim light—a setup that clearly suggested an intention to arrange a romantic evening.
The crackling fire, with its dancing flames and bright sparks, drew him in irresistibly, simultaneously sending adrenaline signals pulsating through his body. As Moe gazed into the yellow-red blaze, he trembled increasingly, feeling the grip of a panic attack constricting his lungs and igniting a hot nausea in his throat. Manny spoke animatedly, oblivious to Moe's paling face, misinterpreting his daze as sheer astonishment. Manny continued to unload a thermos of mulled wine and cups from the basket, causing a clamor when Moe unleashed a frantic, piercing scream. Exhausted, Moe continued to scream, gasping for air, unable to fully oxygenate his bloodstream. He weakly thrust his arms forward to protect himself, unable to hear his own scream over the intense ringing in his ears, and winced as he was lifted up. It felt as if the fire itself had seized him, enveloping him in a merciless, skin-slickening embrace, poised to obliterate and consume him without a trace, just as it had consumed...
He regained consciousness, drained and shattered, his gaze fixed on the ceiling while Einar, Manny, and the family doctor entered and, blinking lethargically, he asked to be left alone. Einar only partially acquiesced, escorting the disheartened Manny and the doctor out before settling down beside him. He gently, yet persistently, inquired about pyrophobia, its origins, but Moe stayed silent, turning away and enveloping himself in silence as if it were a protective shield.
Moe snorted irritably, dismissing the unpleasant memories.
“No one startled me. Einer, the closed door conveys a clear message - the person inside wants to be alone. Read the signals.”
“I've had my fill of insinuations and uncertainty, Moe,” Einar sharply interrupted, looming over, looking into his eyes. “What. Happened. Today?”
“N-nothing,” Moe hissed, grappling to free himself from the weight. “Go away.”
“I am not going to,” Einar pressed on his shoulder, moving him onto his back, rolling on top and securing him to the mattress. “I want us to have a conversation like adults, without ambiguity or indirectness, to clear the air. Your recent behavior has raised concerns- avoiding me, fidgeting, growing closer to Manny - what's your intention with that?”
“Why do you care?” Moe snapped, attempting to break free and wriggling the arms pinned by Einar. “I'll be gone soon, leaving you and Manny behind, so why bother discussing anything?”
“I do care,” Einar curled his upper lip, wrinkling his nose; at that moment, he resembled a defensive dog spotting a threat. “Fine, I understand. You're not inclined to talk, so let's resort to your preferred method,” he stood up, released his hands, lowered his underpants and underwear to his knees, and jingled his belt buckle, undressing.
“I've had enough. Of you,” Moe seized his pants, aiming to dress and send him away, but Einar growled angrily, yanking down his pants and underwear and lunging at him.
“Whom do you want, Moe? Hmm?” Einer nuzzled his nose, drilling a fierce gaze. “Is Manny more attractive? Have you grown tired of me?”
“Fuck you!" Moe panted heavily, squirming, catching the sea-salt scent of arousal, sensing himself inevitably hardening beneath the familiar weight, and aware that Einar could feel the throbbing cock against his belly as well.
“No, fuck you!,” Einar grinned, parting Moe clenching legs with his knee and lowering the waistband of his pants. “Now. On my dick," he released a hand that had been poised to strike, deftly evaded a swing, and inserted two fingers. “Hmm, you say you don't want it, but you're ready, even lubricated yourself. So, were you planning to seduce Manny? Or perhaps you already fuck while I'm at work?”
“Stop it!” Moe swung again, but Einar caught his fist, twisted his arm, and pressed the wet tip against the entrance, applying gentle pressure - the responsive muscle sent a languid pleasure through his body. Moe squirmed, as if attempting to retreat or move closer, torn between resistance and surrender, and eventually collapsed backward, yielding.
Sensing the absence of resistance, Einar got a comfortable grip on him, sliding his hands beneath his back, and hooking into his shoulders. Einar slammed into him, forcefully and hard, prompting a feeble cry from Moe. Biting sharply on his lip, Einar loomed menacingly over him, not allowing him to adjust, he thrust forcefully, maintaining a relentless pace, keeping Moe’s shoulders pinned, preventing any movement on the mattress. Moe helplessly clutched at the sheet, resisting the embrace, and turned to the side. He watched his knee twitch with each sweeping thrust, whimpering in the midst of the sensual pleasure that dulled the mental discomfort. He came first, wrinkled his nose as Einer continued erratic thrusts in pursuit of his own release. As Einer growled, contorting his face in an almost agonizing spasm and shuddering in the throes of orgasm, Moe, after enduring one last jagged friction, pushed him away, summoning his reMaining strength, and struggled to rise, eventually going into the bathroom.
“Damn, Moe!” Einar gripped his cock at the base, preventing the knot from swelling.
“Finish yourself off and get out,” Moe said sternly, and forcefully shut the door with his back against it.
It felt gloomy and somber, as if he had been tarnished—not by the act of intimacy, but by the resurfacing suspicions hitting him hard. Despite Einer's actions and words, he continued to view him as an accessible, frivolous doormat opting for a wealthier alpha. Moe dug his nails into his thigh, chastising himself with a bitter sense of foolish gullibility and openness. He realized it was his own fault for allowing himself to be perceived in that manner.
The bedroom door closed softly, and Moe moved wearily toward the shower, hoping he could cleanse his inner turmoil with a forceful rush of water.