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Sleep is always something sweet and most desired for any person. And its loss, no matter how you look at it, could lead to quite disastrous consequences.
First of all, it could interfere with the quality of work.
Although in their case, it was more likely that the work interfered with sleep.
They began to sleep restlessly ever since joining the mafia.
Receiving the status of personal guards of the Boss deprived them of calm and full nights completely.
The opportunity to spend time and rare nights together in their situation was nothing less than a blessing, which they clung to like the apple of their eye.
The only downside was the individual sleep schedule.
No matter how tired, exhausted or wounded Squalo was, his body simply refused to sleep for too long, becoming satiated in a few hours.
Not that it bothered them or interfered with them in any way.
However, he had to occupy themselves with something. And it was hard to do that when you had a mature, tactile and soundly sleeping Sicilian lying next to you.
At the very least, it presents some difficulties.
When consciousness became clear, seeing before oneself the impenetrable darkness of closed eyelids, one did not need to be a fortune teller to understand:
Another deep night.
Has at least half passed?
Probably yes, considering that they went to bed quite late.
Lazily opening his eyes to try to make out the impenetrable darkness, occasionally interrupted by passing cars somewhere far away, Squalo feels an indescribable weight with which his eyelids are pulled downwards.
All this was due to the heat and the closeness in which he felt like a baby, safely buried in his mother's arms.
Although it was much more pleasant to realize that these were Tiziano's arms.
This sweet habit, of which Tiziano was not aware, either awake or asleep, charmed Squalo every time, as if it were the first.
He sighed heavily and slowly looked away, just to make sure, just to take another look at the white hair that has flowed around and formed a silhouette that blended into the darkness around him.
Tiziano's strong arms, albeit limply, were tightly wrapped around his neck, his aristocratic nose was buried in his red wavy hair, which still exuded a light scent of shampoo, and his plump lips were softly pressed against his forehead.
It was only after a minute of detailed study of the hot sensations of physical contact that he realized that Tiziano had not simply pressed himself against him.
He had climbed on top of him with his entire body.
Squalo couldn't help but smile, feeling it spread unconsciously across his face from the sensation of the weight completely collapsing on him.
He didn't push him away or bother him in any way.
His hand quietly slid higher, embracing the neat waist, outlined below the broad chest, which made Tiziano, in his sleep, hug Squalo's neck tighter, the tip of his nose traced a short path on the curly hair, and a quiet sniffling through a tiny gap between parted lips struck him along the body with intriguing goosebumps.
Squalo glances lazily and ingratiatingly at the sleeping Tiziano, smiling a little wider at the sight of him swaying in an attempt to settle more comfortably on strong chest and hips.
His white eyelashes tremble slightly as his eyelids and eyes move restlessly.
Wonder, what he's dreaming about?
He feels and almost hears the steady, relaxed heartbeat that makes their chests collide, and he presses closer with pleasure to feel in more detail the way the blood rushes through the veins and arteries under the thin coffee skin.
At least not a nightmare. This information was already more than enough.
With one hand, he slowly, seemingly almost without moving, runs along the curve of her back, rolling into the resulting hole and with his fingertips sorting through the many folds that had gathered under his touch, clearly not risking going any further so quickly.
Squalo takes a deep breath, trying to tune in and collect his thoughts.
The subtle scent of perfume that hadn't yet worn off, mixed with the enticing and already so familiar smell of Tiziano himself, that hit his nose, drove him crazy, if it wasn't capable of killing him here and now.
And the effect was only stronger because of how cruelly close they were to each other.
However, this is exactly what charges his body with energy, and his mind completely clouds, giving him the strength to slide further, slowly, studying the edges of the wide T-shirt and almost jerking from the burning touch to the rounded skin.
Squalo's Adam's apple twitches with intrigue, as if he had never touched this body before and didn't know it by heart even with his eyes closed, when his little finger moves to the side and catches on the center strap of a black thong, pulling it up slightly and then almost passing out from the force of the emotions piercing his head at that moment.
Returning the strap to its rightful place was comparable to defusing a bomb, no less, if not more.
Slipping out from under the thin, but high-quality and pleasant to the touch fabric, he slowly follows further, bending around the thigh and stroking the soft and well-groomed leg, its curves and muscles, with an unconsciously soft smile meeting the thin invisible to the eye hair, that react to the touch.
Exhaling sweetly through his mouth, which he immediately regretted when Tiziano stirred from the almost scalding breath on his neck. Squalo hesitantly but purposefully carefully extended his other hand under the invigorating coffee-colored leg, which again caused a slight movement from above.
Moving his hand from Tiziano's leg back to his waist, urging the pliant sleepy mind to press closer to him, he begins to stroke his own thigh with the second one, the oblique muscle of his abdomen, the appearance of which Tiziano himself had taken a fancy to a couple of months ago.
The pads of his fingers trace a simple pattern on the soft, form-fitting boxers, the tips digging into the outline of the organ bulging beneath them and tracing its edges before embracing it through the thin barrier.
He shudders quietly, squeezing his palm tighter and making the first mind-blowing movement, sending an inexplicably strong electric shock straight down his stomach, twisting the painful knot of arousal there and forming a clearer outline of his cock on the stretched gray fabric.
He would be damn ashamed in the morning when Tiziano woke up, found out everything and would silently look at him with disapproval.
But now he was peacefully snoring, lying on top of him, and it was driving Squalo crazy, intoxicated by the heat of their bodies and the composition of their mixed smells.
The hand involuntarily begins to reach out in search of more friction, crawling to the edge of the underwear and burrowing under them.
The feeling of soft skin around a hard cluster of muscles, stretching following the sensual movements of a strong grip of the palm around the thickness, was magical.
The heart stops, the breath trembles, hitting the chest with each pulse of blood rushing through the veins when Squalo presses on the pulsating veins protruding on the trunk, lingering on them during slow strokes.
Plunging into the abyss of velvety tingles running from his groin to his chest and back again, which he kindly shares with the sleeping Tiziano, burying his nose in his neck, along which his Adam's apple rolled with his relaxed breathing, and descending down to the center of the junction of the collarbones. He doesn't hold back, sticking out the tip of his tongue and circling the small, enticing hole, instantly realizing what he has done as soon as Tiziano twitches, pressing his hips closer to Squalo's hips and burying his fingers in the tangled red curls, scratching his scalp with his nails.
Well, after all, it's the least he deserves.
However, the small but significant change in Tiziano's position prompts Squalo to go further.
He holds his breath, withdrawing his hand and lowering his boxers lower to finally pull out his cock, and getting goosebumps from the sudden impact with the external coolness that enveloped his heated organ.
The curve of the blood-filled shaft twitched periodically, releasing a few drops of pre-cum as Squalo slowly pressed it against Tiziano's ass, stroking the base and gently shaking it between the cheeks.
He gently, soothingly and lullingly strokes his back, burying his hand under his T-shirt and tracing the curve of his spine, hugging him and quietly, deeply exhaling into his neck.
However, now the reaction he was receiving, which he openly provoked, did not frighten him, but on the contrary kindled the fire in him even more, as Tiziano sometimes moved and quietly moaned in his low, velvety voice.
It was a real test, pushing him to orgasm not with steps, not with jumps, it was a dash in the distance from the Earth to the Sun.
But it was also dangerous to increase the tempo in this situation, without risking to jerk and move too much, so as not to suddenly wake Tiziano, in the opposite direction from whom the oozing trunk had to be moved away.
The nimble palm performed the most specific pirouettes, which even Olympic champions aren't capable of, even with all the desire.
The body itself seemed to push him to discover and stimulate the most sensitive and needy points.
The fingers traced patterns and emphasized the hard muscles, the tip of the middle finger caressed the junction of nerve endings under the head and then slid to the urethra, scooping up a hefty drop of biological lubricant and smearing it along the length with a whole palm.
Squalo greedily swallows a groan and lets out a heavy, trembling breath, praying to all the Gods, if they exist, not to whine.
Making smooth movements along the entire length, he bites his own lip from the insignificant and tormenting speed that he had to be content with.
Therefore, his attention is concentrated in the head area, moving his hand from the very tip to the edge, with saliva on his lips, feeling how the penis seems to push itself into the tight palm, and not even noticing what sounds it provokes from the intensity of the pre-cum produced and smeared in one area.
The seconds of animal bliss were too sweet.
But Tiziano was clearly not deaf either. Squalo almost whines when he has to stop abruptly and cruelly ignore the way his cock twitches pitifully in a plea for attention as Tiziano sleepily reacts to the irritant hitting his ears and sniffles, pressing Squalo's head tightly to himself, urging him to bury his nose in the curves of his neck and finally lose his head from the intensity of the most delicate aromas.
Yielding to the hands pulling him, Squalo does not lag behind and hugs him tighter, changing tactics after all.
Wrapping his fingers around the slippery head, he moves his thumb up and begins to actively slide the pad from side to side along and across the pulsating urethra, choking from suppressed moans and heavy breathing, trying to squeeze out the most even and calm breath possible.
His teeth almost ached with the desire to bite
No, lick
No, at least kiss Tiziano's neck.
But all he could content himself with was his magical natural scent and close physical contact.
Not that he was complaining.
But it wasn't enough.
Controlling his breathing in every way possible and existing, Squalo bares his teeth until his gums hurt, exposing his sharpened incisors under the pressure of hefty electric discharges piercing his hips in every nerve at once.
He shifts a little, pressing his hips into the bed, and yet lets out a quiet groan, breaking out through his teeth, when the orgasm finally overtakes him completely.
The first and most vigorous shot of cum almost pushes his thumb aside to clear its passage and falls in thick threads down.
And no matter how hard he tries to cum in his fist to avoid unpleasant consequences or at least reduce them, the desire to prolong this voluptuous explosion overpowers him, prompting him to jerk off the length with light movements and milk himself to the last drop, dirtying everything around and fighting in a fight not for life, but to the death with cramps in his legs, hips and spine.
Such an unforeseen and unexpected surge of adrenaline and lust killed all the strength accumulated during sleep, leaving only weakness, exhaustion and heaviness on the eyelids, enticing him to fall asleep again. Who would have thought (anyone) that a tired noisy sigh from somewhere above would have an invigorating effect, capable of competing with a professionally prepared espresso.
– You've soiled the bed...?
Sleepy, so quiet that Squalo begged for a second that he had misheard it, a low voice from somewhere in the depths of his throat, with which Tiziano could barely move his tongue, deafens Squalo.
He doesn't meet or accompany this question in any way. His second, clean hand, as if of its own free will, drops from the body above and prayerfully feels the bed beneath itself.
– No.
– What about me..?
Swallowing, Squalo, confused and worried, moves his hand back, feeling Tiziano's thigh and ass.
– ......Yes.
He hesitates like a child who has been caught stealing candy, when he hears a lazy and disappointed "mhm" with a deep and drawn-out exhalation, in order to return to sleep with renewed strength, if such words are even appropriate.
– I guess... we should take a shower?
To the hesitant question, as if it were not the most obvious solution in this situation, he hears another lazy, but already quieter "mhm", with which Tiziano, however, does not make a single movement, obviously too absorbed, as always, by the alluring desire to sleep.
– Sorry.
This time Tiziano doesn't even try hard enough to squeeze out anything resembling a full answer. He just groans hoarsely, not opening his eyes even a millimeter the entire time, only clutching Squalo's hair tighter between his fingers.
Well, it looks like he'll have to pay for it in the morning.