Almost Always | #147
- MDNI 🔞 NSFW
Please separate fiction from reality.
Fiction ≠ reality
Content Warning: Sexual content, masturbation, explicit language, memory sex scene, internal guilt/conflict.
This scene is not for everyone. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
@coupslovre
At his age? It’s normal to be horny. Normal to find someone to fuck if you’re single. And if you’re not in the mood to hunt, well masturbation exists. Walang masama.
And Cyrus? Hindi naman mataas ang sex drive niya. But whenever work gets too stressful, or whenever that deep ache for intimacy creeps in, he’d usually head straight to his usual place.
Vlad’s bar, where someone always ends up in his bed.
But ever since this whole fake marriage started?
Tangina. It’s been three weeks, and not once has he gotten hard. Not even a twitch.
Weird. Maybe he’s distracted. Maybe it’s all the paperwork, or… the Joy.
Then he saw that picture.
Joy, smiling like an angel. His long hair falling perfectly around his face. Ethereal and almost unreal.
Iba-iba man ang magiging reaksyon ng mga tao sa picture na ’yon, halos pare-pareho rin ang bagsak:
“Ang ganda talaga ni Joy.”
“Poganda, best in candid!”
“Grabe, mukha siyang diwata.”
Wholesome. Pure. Soft admiration.
But Cyrus?
Putangina.
Tangina talaga.
The second he saw the photo, his body betrayed him.
His cock twitched. His thoughts spiraled. He imagined Joy on all fours, hair tangled in Cyrus’ fist as he fucked him from behind.
Cyrus, you unholy bastard.
“Shit,” he muttered, sitting in his home office, trying to breathe. He’d already downed nearly every kind of alcohol he had. Whiskey, scotch, gin, just to calm his pulsing dick.
He finished the last drop in his glass and stood up. “This fucking can’t be happening,” he hissed, dragging himself to the bathroom.
If Joy hadn’t come back into his life, he would’ve already been out the door, heading to Vlad’s to pull someone for a rough, needy fuck that made up for the three-week dry spell.
But no.
Even after seven years, Cyrus still knows Joy.
Joy is sensitive.
And Cyrus… still has some damn conscience left in him.
He may have asked Joy to marry him for the sake of business, but fucking someone else? That wasn’t part of the deal.
And it definitely wasn’t something his guilt would let him live with.
Because no matter how fake this marriage is…
Some feelings refuse to be faked.
Now, he’s in the bathroom.
And for the first time in years, Cyrus is about to jack off.
Because Cyrus can usually get what he wants. Isang utos lang, “Luhod” and someone from the bar would be on their knees, aching to please him.
But not Joy.
Never Joy.
Joy was different.
He respected him.
And seven years ago, when Joy finally let go and whispered, “Fuck me, Cy,” it took a whole year to get to that point.
He remembered it all too well.
Cyrus unbuckled his belt slowly, with that same practiced control. He slid off his pants and brief in one go. His cock springing free, already hard, throbbing, aching.
“Shit—haa…” he moaned under his breath, leaning against the cool shower wall.
His hand gripped his cock, moving slow, deliberate. Precum was already leaking from the tip.
He shut his eyes.
Joy’s face came rushing in. His moans, his soft hair, his tight grip on the sheets as Cyrus fucked into him. That night was seared into his memory.
“Mmmph—aaah, tangina…” he groaned, pressing his forehead to his forearm, the wall steadying him as the tension coiled in his gut.
He tried to think of someone else. Anyone else. But no, his brain kept going back to Joy.
“Aaah—shit. Fuck. Joy…”
‘Cy, please… isagad mo.’
“Ahh… mmph…” Cyrus pumped harder now, hips starting to move with him, his body fucking into his own fist, desperate.
Pathetic, if he weren’t this turned on.
‘Love… Cy—ahh! Lalabasan na ako, Love…’
“Fuck…” he panted, hand still pumping. He’s close.
In his mind, Joy was bent over, moaning Cyrus’ name, trembling beneath him.
Cyrus bucked his hips, his body moving as if Joy was really there. Maybe he was. His mind had blurred the lines between fantasy and memory.
“Lalabasan ka na, Jo?” he grunted, his voice low, breathless.
‘Aaah—Mmph Cy.. —Fuck! I’m—Ahhh—gonna cum—baby—Ahh!’
Cyrus leaned over, pressing imaginary kisses on Joy’s back, still thrusting.
He remembered holding Joy’s cock, stroking it to climax.
“Ilabas mo lang, baby,” he had whispered, licking Joy’s spine, whispering filth into his ear.
‘Aaahh—FUCK—CY LOVE—AAAHH!’
Back in the present, Cyrus’ orgasm hit him like a wave.
He thrust forward, cum shooting onto the shower wall in hot, thick spurts. His chest heaved, the intensity leaving him momentarily dazed.
Damn.
He really remembered everything.
Every moan. Every thrust. Every filthy, desperate word they shared.
He opened his eyes, dazed, breath ragged. His cum painted the tiles in front of him.
“Fuck… I came this much?” he muttered, staring at the mess he’d made.
Still trembling, he cleaned up in silence. Washed his hands at the sink. Caught his own reflection in the mirror.
He shut his eyes. Shook his head.
How the hell am I supposed to look at Joy again…
…knowing I just came to the memory of fucking him seven years ago?
God bless this man.