✧˖°. I Can’t Stop Dreaming of You by vixenvows ⋆˙⟡ (reupload)
Contents: swearing, smut, angst, anal sex, rough sex that starts out gentle, protective sex, bottom Darryl, top Max, skinny love, internalized homophobia
Summary: Honesty shines through beneath the silver moon.
A/N: This is just a reupload so that I can have direct access to the post settings again. I did tweak some things here and there for better clarity (I hope) + there was a sentence where their roles got mixed up and I needed to fix that for my mental well being -_-
The moon perches high. Its pale gaze seeking spare signs of softness amid the turbulence of a Harlem steeped in beggarly misfortunes. Inner-city crime that never sleeps.
Neo-Grec slums prop up a bleak repetition some don like the Dapper Dan's that flaunt their illicit status; sleek bodies and tinted windows prowling incitement to envy and intimidate.
Others submit to what they deem inevitable. Kindred hardships and heartaches nurtured by cruel things they inherited. Weedy traces that have taken root long before them and will propagate all who follow after.
All serve their part, falling in line one way or another.
Switching hips work the avenue on stilettos and desperation. Their strut bumping a tune to readily bid another ungodly hour to any lustful eye for the right price.
Jive talk from tipsy fools whose booze-bolstered egos outweigh their circumstance, puffed up on lesser things and aspirations that don’t extend past the corner they occupy.
Weary souls tucked away in graffitied vacancies. Reveries boundless through blackened pipes and busted needles. Their sorrows melted away in a numbing hit of blissful destruction.
The longer it went on, the faster it left. Arms perforated, teeth stained with proof of their frequent wager on dopamine and death.
Nightfall burns so cold this time of year, stinging in bitter recognition of all it beholds. Hoping to be relieved. To stumble upon a single abode of prevailing warmth and respite, for comfort finds itself even in waste places where home must be made.
Sure enough, a seemingly rest-fallen room offers in abundance what fails to be attained in the streets just outside. Streams of silver peek through unsealed blinds. A gentle intrusion falling around two bodies tangled in heated harmony. Two souls who deny the true nature of the flames fueling their bond.
They move as one: flexing, contorting silhouettes in the dark, misted limbs drifting in and out of low light.
“Shit~right there…” Darryl gasps on breathless desire. His hands fist the sheets as Max rocks into him… smooth… steady… pressing at the soft point that melts his insides molten. Rendering him weak, unspun, defenseless.
“I’m hittin’ that spot, D?” the ebony-shaded male speaks low from behind. His lips hover close to the other’s ear, and the loose curls at Darryl's temple swirl beneath the drift of his sigh.
He’s sheathed in Darryl’s velvet heat. Every fluid stroke a pierce that sends shimmers of stardust coursing through their veins, glittering and incandescent.
Darryl manages a long, throaty sound in agreeance. His words stifled by a depth of pleasure consuming his sense of self or reason.
All that remains, ringing like a mantra, is Max, Max, Max. His weight draped over him. The languid stir of hips at every throbbing inch he impales him with. The husky tones that rumble in his throat and vibrate through Darryl’s entire frame.
Max licks a broad stripe up the side of Darryl's neck. A shiver runs up the almond boy’s spine in response, defying the sultry air they stir.
It clings to their skin and nostrils, thick with the heady musk of sweat and sex, and the base notes of something sweetly, addictingly, one another.
That scent sends Max’s head swimming. The way his fuses with Darryl’s. The way they seep into each other’s pores. Into everything around them.
It’s a fragrance that always lingers in quiet longing in the far recesses of his mind until they’re wrapped around each other again. A staple as proof that these secluded interludes are real, sculpted to embrace and unwind with fervent devotion.
Though, Max’s sober lips would never spill the magnitude of the closeness this offers. A heart-rending longing that lingers just beneath for him to choke down before he grows too full and slips up.
In shadows, expectation crumbles. Facade slackens its grip. Here, they move unrehearsed, finding refuge through the impatient meld of lips. The ritualistic ram of flesh. Bare and exploring passion they’ll hide come sunrise.
It always ends the same. They’ll wash away the essence of taboo pleasures. Force themselves to compartmentalize the heat of nearness and tender caresses. Then slip masks back on, pristine and renewed, to flaunt manliness as irrefutable truth.
But for now, their honesty shines through beneath the silver moon, illuminating just enough for this encounter to remain theirs alone.
Max’s motions don’t falter, slow, measured, grinding into Darryl’s prostate with delectable friction. And it’s simultaneously, for Darryl… unnerving. Unbearable.
This fragility Max seems intent on not letting up; it stirs a foolish, highly speculative inkling Darryl wishes to escape. One that settles in and begins to infest his thoughts.
It threatens to dwindle the spark of his approaching orgasm. Wound taut in his lower belly, pulsing in his length, long neglected with precum dribbling from the tip, needy for attention.
He lowers a golden, sinewy hand to his front, fingers reaching to wrap around himself for relief.
A startled noise leaps from Darryl as Max moves swiftly. His face plants into the pillow as his wrist is wrenched and locked solid at the middle of his back. Max’s grip is ironclad to keep it from wandering any farther.
Not tight enough to cause any real harm, but firm enough to make it clear that he has full control over Darryl getting off tonight.
“C’mon Max, ‘s not enough. You gonna fuck me right or not?” His complaint is muffled and frustrated. He strains against the top’s hold, writhing underneath his weight, insistent for Max to please him harder.
To stop treating him with this softness that strives to cloud his head with hopeful nonsense.
Max lets out a chuckle at that, but it is hollow. Almost humorless.
“So fuckin’ greedy. I’m given’ you every inch~” Darryl yelps as Max emphasizes his sentiment with a harsh rut into his ass, burying himself to the hilt, “~of me. And it ain’t enough for you? Bet that. Imma make you feel it.”
Max vows with an edge that sounds more menacing than sympathetic. What he has in store just might confirm it.
He lifts Darryl by both arms, extended behind his back, gripping a wrist tightly in each hand to steady him. Max readjusts his own position, sitting upright with knees squared between the other’s thighs for better leverage.
No heed or warning is offered as he all but knocks the wind straight from Darryl’s lungs. The surge of his hips is unforgiving, pistoning into Darryl harder than his mind or body feels capable of keeping up with.
The air Darryl heaves back in again shatters with a sound that bellows from his pit, broken and visceral and desperately unbridled. His hands scramble for hold on Max’s forearms to brace himself against the rapid thrusts plowing through his hole. The force rocks him unstable, his length bobbing and weeping from the impact.
Max sneers at that, wide and wicked, his silver earring shimmering in the moonlight as he fucks into Darryl with abandon.
The taunt in Max’s tone is as maddening as it is arousing. He knows just how to get under Darryl’s skin. Embed himself there and make it his home to wreck as he pleases.
Darryl invites his bruising destruction with earnest submission.
“S-shit~just like that! Don’t stop!” Darryl begs with an expression broken in bliss. His eyes are unfocused, lips parted over uneven breath and head thrown back. His frame jerks forward as Max drives into him rough and reckless.
“That’s right. Take all this dick,” Max growls through clenched teeth. His abdomen burns from his efforts and his awaiting release.
He feels himself slipping more and more as that vibrant sensation swells closer to ecstasy. But he swallows it down with tenacious hunger, determined to hold off a little longer to revel in Darryl’s lost sensibilities.
How he renders Darryl’s private school etiquette and calm composure into consuming desperation. How he molds him into this hedonistic devotee that surrenders all propriety at the push of his cock. It’s a carnal feat Max takes much pride in.
Contrary to his rough-handed tendencies, he always starts with careful precision. He eases himself in and out of Darryl until he’s stretched enough to accommodate his size and the brash energy he rarely ever sheds.
But some part of that calm, delicate approach wants to savor Darryl with tenderness. To meld reverently and pretend, if only for a moment, that what they share reaches beyond the physical. That the wistful space he keeps for his friend could be returned in kind.
That he could simply say to hell with it and love Darryl in the way the world deems wrong. In the way he’s spent so long fiercely trying to shut himself off from.
But it breaches through in spite of him. And that’s when the terms of their arrangement begin to blur.
Those gentle grazes and hushed utterances pry into Darryl like something hellish and persistent to invade his rationale. To seep in and corrode the barrier he’s so meticulously constructed to hold his emotions at bay.
It wrangles with his heart and attempts to infringe on his better judgement. A turbulent struggle only his friend’s familiar abrasiveness can quell.
So Darryl gets defiant. He takes what he wants without permission, talks back, pushes all the right buttons to rile up the harsh dominance he needs. It's effective in dragging Max out of that dreamy head space, reminding him why he’s here to begin with.
And Max damn sure doesn’t hesitate to put him in his place. Even so, this he knows for certain Darryl would have no other way.
And Darryl could die happy here. Pinned firm, opened wide to the blissful brunt of pent-up and repressed desire Max denies in daylight until he can bury it all within him.
He welcomes the sting of hefty hands tugging at his roots until his scalp twinges for relief, squeezing his hip so hard Max’s palm brands there.
Offers himself willingly to the greedy pull of lips, etching splotchy hues along hidden places only he will savor.
Relishes in the dull throb that will settle in his backside for days after this engagement. Each rough reminder a testament to these nightly rendezvous.
Darryl is more than pleased to surrender to any lashing his friend sees fit when it hurts this good. When such elated torment overrides the ache of unconfessed feelings he quietly continues to bear.
The headboard bangs against the wall, mattress groaning beneath the force of merciless intimacy. A rhythm that underscores their moans and the clash created where bodies meet; Darryl’s ass bouncing off of Max as he drills him fast and deep.
“Gonna m-make me cum!” Darryl gasps through trembling lips. His joints stiffen, squeezing Max’s slick forearms so hard that sweat breaks from his own palms. His core simmers and pulsates with electric. A sweltering overcurrent that brims every muscle and extremity and demands to be unraveled.
“Give it to me. I got you,” Max pants. And that husky urging, needy and insistent, is all it takes to set Darryl off.
His length lurches as thick ropes of white splatter across the bedsheet. His mouth is agape, emitting a stream of sounds he can barely process over the sultry bliss that pervades his entire being, buzzing with static from head to toe.
Max continues to chase his own high, moving with a ferocity that starts to wane and stutter as Darryl’s feverish ring of muscle clamps down tight. His focus tunnels solely to that bind, the heat that fills him and the way Darryl shatters into complete rapture around his dick.
He soon follows with a loud, heavy groan, hips planted flush to Darryl’s behind. Euphoric tides crash through his body as he unloads his seed within the latex layer keeping them scarcely separated.
And then they’re left motionless in silent, heavy warmth. Their labored breaths mingle over the distant night cacophony, roaring on beyond this small, separate world they’ve carved out for themselves.
They linger in this suspended state until finality presses them to part. And as Max slowly draws back, slipping away from Darryl…
They share an unspoken desire to remain wrapped in each other’s closeness just a little while longer.
Copyright © 2026 vixenvows. All rights reserved.
