He felt Ezra’s scar more than he saw it, skin raised and almost slick underneath his tongue and between gently worrying teeth, tasting of sweat the same as the rest of his flesh, receiving the same amount of Dmitri’s attention. Dmitri had no scars, save one, thin and barely noticeable, practically hidden in his hairline, a scar from the scrape and gouge of Valentyn’s nails into his face the day that he’d left the whorehouse in Ukraine. And he didn’t hate it, he wore it as his due and almost as a souvenir, the only thing he had to tie him to a boy that was practically a ghost - a series of names that had never existed, an uncertain past and an equally uncertain future.
A boy that, upon first glance, Ezra had reminded him of. But those similarities were superficial and falling away now, nothing holding them together besides a narrow lithe body and wide blue eyes. Valentyn hadn’t been sweet. Valentyn had been grit, had been clawing nails and barely contained ferocity, although it taken Dmitri too long to notice, because he’d projected his own weakness on to Valik, assumed that he’d been as broken as he’d been, prone to thinking he was shaking with tears only to later realize that his eyes had been dry, body wracked with the force of his hatred rather than the hopelessness and futility that Dmitri had already succumbed to.
It felt good, in a way, to be marked by Valik, even though it was a memory of Valik spitting and angry and hating him as opposed to the many times over those months they’d been soft with each other, desperate and clinging to the only comfort they could find. But he didn’t know what it was like to wear the mark that Ezra wore, new enough to still be angry and obvious, not faded with the passage of a decade, the memory of being touched in anger that Dmitri was certain Ezra hadn’t deserved in the way Dmitri had.
But he laved it with his tongue all the same, because it was part of Ezra and therefore beautiful to him, because he hated the pain that he imagined must have caused it and wanted the raised and deadened tissue to know pleasure again, a gentle and reverent touch.
Ezra was pliable, body stretching and folding, formed into whatever shape Dmitri intended, flexible and bent nearly in half, bending more at the press of Dmitri’s torso, his mouth seeking out Ezra’s again in a quest to taste the moans and whimpers that fell so freely from his lips, sharing panting breaths and incoherent noises, joined so thoroughly that he couldn’t tell which sounds were coming from Ezra and which were coming from him.
Ezra’s hands were scrabbling at his back, elegant and tapered fingers seeking purchase on sweat-dampened skin with increasing fervor, matching the ever-increasing tempo of their coupling, Ezra shuddering and arching and meeting his thrusts. And he was suspended, caught between chasing his release and gritting his teeth against it, holding himself steady as he was buffeted by waves of pleasure, Ezra all around him. But he’d held back this long, chasing Ezra’s pleasure before his own, patiently coaxing it to life and watching it overcome Ezra’s hesitation, his shyness. And so he waited now, breath coming heavy and labored as his mouth slid from Ezra’s, lips working mindlessly at the corner of his lips, his jawline, focus turned towards holding himself back, waiting for the moment when Ezra let go first.
- And he did, head thrown back, spine in a sensuous arch, Dmitri’s name on his lips, Ezra’s body shuddered and trembled in his release, and Dmitri groaned at the clench and spasm of him, face buried in his shoulder, breath hot and damp on Ezra’s feverish skin as his hips stuttered forward, rhythm lost as he sought his release, finding it a handful of thrusts later as he spent himself in Ezra’s wrung-out body.
He struggled not to just collapse on Ezra, weight suspended on his elbows, arms trembling lightly at the strain as he willing his breathing to slow, the aftershocks of his orgasm to fade from his muscles. Propped up above Ezra, he pulled his face out of the crook of Ezra’s neck, eased himself from Ezra’s body, Ezra’s leg from his shoulder, looked down at him as he swept the boy’s sweat-slicked hair back from his forehead. “Beautiful, myshka,” he murmured, voice low and rumbling in his chest, spent and satisfied. And he knew that perhaps he didn’t have a right to demand, because there were no rules governing this encounter, no hours paid for and allotted to him, this existing in some limbo between being Ezra’s job and Ezra’s choice, but he asked anyway, the low punch of want in his gut, the desire to keep the beautiful and spent body underneath him - to not be alone when he’d just arrived, out of sorts and still settling in - nagging at him, demanding that he ask, “You’ll stay the night, won’t you?”
Ezra was still panting lightly as Dmitri followed swiftly after him, body trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm as the pleasure continued to pulsate throughout his body, limbs limp and body spent, a slender chest rising and falling with every caught breath that slipped past his kiss-reddened lips. His eyelids pulled back to reveal hazy blue orbs as Dmitri’s face retracted from the crook of his neck, tanned skin shining with a thin layer of sweat, hair ruffled and limbs tired, and Ezra couldn’t help but to admire him in that moment in the dim orange lamplight.
His muscles began to ache slightly as Dmitri eased his leg down from his shoulder, but an easy and natural flexibility meant that thankfully he wouldn’t be in too much pain later. He was easing out of his body, stroking the sweat-slicked hair back from his forehead and Ezra couldn’t help the small sound of content that slipped from his lips. His first client. It was fair to say it had gone a lot better than Ezra thought it ever would have, and he could only hope that he hadn’t been a disappointment to the man, that he’d lived up to whatever expectations he’d had, to whatever had made him pick him out of all of the escorts at the party to begin with.
‘Beautiful, Myshka,” A nickname that he didn’t understand the meaning, but he found himself fond of it regardless. Or more, he found himself fond of the spent and satisfied tone of Dmitri’s voice as he said it. He’d done his job, and he seemed to have done it right – for once. A smile curved at Ezra’s lips, soft and sleepy, and he couldn’t help but to be somewhat surprised by Dmitri’s words. Maybe he’d seen too many bad movies, but he’d half expected to be kicked out of the room around about now. But he supposed that was a stupid thought, when Dmitri had been nothing but a gentleman to him all evening.
“Of course I’ll stay.” The boy murmured, because he wasn’t going to disappoint the man, and a part of him that should have stayed well away craved the company, craved the feeling of warm breath against his neck, the presence of another body in the bed. Ezra swallowed thickly at his own wandering thoughts and slowly sat up, close in proximity to the man once again, lips a kissing distance away, but he could feel the stickiness of his release on his stomach, the sheen of sweat on his body and on the sheets beneath them, and he doubted it would be professional of him not to clean up firstly. “Do you mind if I use your wash room?” He asked, eyes smiling beneath thick lashes.
When he got his answer Ezra took himself off into the washroom, cleaned himself up and made himself look presentable again, but he wasn’t gone for long; he knew better than that. When he returned he climbed tentatively back beneath the sheets. It was late, perhaps even early morning by this point – Ezra had lost all track of time, but the state of the sky outside urged him into sleep.
He didn’t know what to do with himself. Dmitri had been his first ever client, his first ever over night stop, his first introduction into this world of escorting. And he was nervous. He could feel his heart pounding again with anxiousness as he found the other mans eyes, almost deafening in his own ears. “Good night..” He whispered, soft eyes flickering slowly over his face, fingers tentative against his chest, awaiting something he wasn’t even sure of himself. His head eased down into the pillow, body relaxing into the mattress and the other mans arms. He wasn’t sure when he finally fell asleep, somewhere in between gazes and nervous flutters of his heart and catches of breath.
