Cupid Calling

by Viano Oniomoh

Because standing there right then, as he’d stared Obiora down, his eyes dark and penetrating, all Obiora had been able to think about was whether Ejiro looked this fervent and intense when he fucked.

Obiora lowered his voice to whisper, “I’m pretty sure Chris Wu is like … ten puppies stacked on top of each other in a human flesh coat. Surely no one can be that happy all the fucking time.”

With how reserved Ejiro was, every smile Obiora managed to pull from him felt like a gift—if he saw you fit enough to open up and give you his entire heart—

He could easily imagine himself being enfolded within Obiora’s embrace; Obiora looked like he was made for warm hugs and cosy snuggling. The thought of it made Ejiro’s entire body practically burn with longing.

At this point, I’m pretty sure constantly doubting yourself and your right to belong is almost like a queer rite of passage.”

“I think that sort of thinking stems from this desperate need to belong. We want to fit in, you know? But we’re afraid of rejection, so we give ourselves some arbitrary criteria to meet—like,

You’re absolutely valid, and the most important seal of approval you really need is your own.”

Jesus fucking Christ, his voice was so fucking deep, scraping through his throat smooth yet raspy, like whiskey through rocks.

“Sensual attraction,” Obiora answered, his voice just as hoarse. Ejiro shivered visibly at the sound, his eyelashes fluttering. Obiora was going to die.

Ejiro was staring at his mouth again. The only word Obiora could think of to describe his expression was hungry.

No one had ever looked at him the way Obiora had looked at him. His dark eyes had practically burned, like Ejiro was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen; like Ejiro was a delicious piece of dessert and Obiora wanted to devour him whole.

At one point, he’d glanced at Obiora to show him something, trembling with excitement, and found Obiora already watching him, his eyes soft with a terrible fondness. Ejiro’s stomach had swooped, and he’d found it hard to breathe.

“Hey, yes, hello, hi.” Ejiro was trying so hard not to stare that he walked right into the kitchen island. “Ow! Jesus Christ.”

But even if Ejiro’s body might want him, Obiora didn’t want to take that as consent; he wanted explicit words of desire from Ejiro’s mouth. He wanted Ejiro to beg to be touched, the way he so clearly, desperately wanted to be.

“Oh? I must be special then, eh?” Ejiro waggled his eyebrows. Obiora’s heart did something devastating. Who was this suddenly flirtatious Ejiro, and where had he been hiding?

He’d gotten so used to seeing Ejiro relaxed and teasing and carefree, that seeing him behave more subdued when he was around the other men suddenly reminded Obiora that Ejiro was actually quite a reserved person. Until you got to know him, that is. The thought filled him with an indescribable heat, something almost possessive. That Obiora had seen sides to Ejiro none of the other men had, had Obiora’s chest feeling too small to contain his heart.

Ejiro noticed him staring and smiled shyly, tentatively, before looking away, his blush obvious in the helpless curve of his mouth, the slow, hypnotic sweep of his eyelashes. Obiora’s entire being trembled with want. Ejiro glanced at him again, like he couldn’t help it, his blush deepening when he found Obiora still watching him.

Obiora shook. “Ejiro. Ejiro.” His name fell from Obiora’s lips like a prayer; a plea. “Yes? Yes?” Ejiro answered just as passionately, stepping even closer. Their eyes were locked. Electricity crackled between them like lightning. “Anything. Anything.” “Please,” Obiora begged brokenly. “Kiss me.”

Ejiro was desperate, almost frantic with the need to just—be with Obiora. To kiss him, to freaking claim him,

For some reason, the easy, intimate act of Obiora holding his hands like this made Ejiro feel like Obiora was holding his very heart. His lips parted slightly, and Ejiro swayed forward almost helplessly, a piece of metal drawn to magnet.

“Fuck,” Obiora whispered. He was staring at Ejiro’s mouth, his eyes burning. Ejiro automatically licked his lips, biting back a sound of lust when Obiora’s eyes followed the movement, his own tongue darting out to mimic it.

each time Obiora thought he couldn’t fall in love any harder, there Ejiro went, merely existing and proving him wrong.

“I think I’ll eat you out next time.” Ejiro’s eyes flew open, his hips jolting, his hole clenching around the finger inside him. The look in Obiora’s eyes was predatory. “Yeah,” Obiora said, voice gravelly. “I think you’d like that.”

His eyes met Obiora’s, dark with lust. “I want to feel it. I want it—” He blushed furiously “—to hurt a bit.”

Obiora hammered his hips, nailing his prick into that spot over and over until Ejiro had to just lie there and take it. “You like that, baby? You want it harder?”

“Look at you,” he growled. “Knew you’d be like this. Knew you’d take my dick so fucking beautifully.”

“I don’t want to speak for all demisexual people, but personally, for me, it means I only experience sexual attraction when a good deal of mutual trust along with an emotional bond has been formed first.”

Something dark and possessive had taken root in Obiora’s chest at the realisation that Ejiro had literally just claimed him—claimed them—on live TV—proclaimed to most of the entire fucking world that Obiora was fucking his.

I didn’t believe I could love anyone the way I love you, yet here I am, so full of love I’m practically made of it.”