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The tiny green light was on, yet Anaxagoras remained silent. He usually was, relatively speaking at least, but never to this extent. He had been streaming for eleven minutes and ten seconds, yet he made no effort to move from where he stood stationary, his brush stilled in his hand as if he were wielding a weapon as he stared down onto his blank canvas for a second before his gaze quickly flit away to the corner of his second monitor. He had thousands upon thousands of people with their eyes on him now, yet the emptiness of his apartment only made the silence more deafening.
It wasn’t because of his chat. They were always buzzing with the energy of a bunch of overly caffeinated college students, full of emojis and their little insider jokes (of which Anaxa didn’t know if he wanted to get into that can of worms), bantering with him from time to time with the occasional random user vying for his attention with some obscene nudity challenge for him to try out in public (hey siri, how do you tell random people to stop commenting "FLASH US!!!" every five minutes). A never ending influx of comments for one reason or the other with each one coming in so quickly that Anaxagoras hardly had the time to skim the chat over, just barely able to make out the blur of each message, of which was not at all helped by his glasses. Though he supposed his glasses didn’t exactly help his eyesight much where they were balanced precariously on the top of his head in replacement of his usual hairclips.
The comments did nothing to fill in the room itself that he was in, his space – no, their space. There were no soft thuds of footsteps pacing just outside of the frame, beyond the closed door. No clink of coffee mugs, or the muffled clash of metal pans in the background, always shortly followed by the scent of spices wafting in beneath the door to curl in his nose. There was no gentle twaaang of a guitar being tuned for the thousandth time. No humming of lullabies and songs, off key and half conscious, always there beneath the silence. Just for the two of them.
Anaxa always forgot that his mic didn’t pick up any of the sounds that Mydeimos made in the background, all the little sounds that made their home whole. Although, he was a bit happy that it would only be for him to enjoy, a little something shared between the two of them. Sometimes, he used to glance behind him at the closed mahogany door for a moment too long, as if the distance to his door - the barrier between him and his lover - etched upon miles and miles, before turning back with a smile so soft that he hardly recognized himself. His comments would always tease him for grinning at nothing, calling it him yearning for his “ghost boyfriend”. He never corrected them. Let them chase their own tails , he’d muse to himself as he'd curl under the covers, tucking himself under the arm already stretched out in invitation of his “ghost boyfriend”.
Warm breath against skin, the scent of sun-warmed pomegranate and honeyed wine wrapping around him. Mydeimos was far too warm to be a ghost.
mpregnator2000 donated $10!
prof nax… our glorious emo king Naxa NTD-3250 32" TV/DVD Combo - HDTV - 16:9 - 1366 x 768 - 720p… life will be gwenchana if you got dumped like we got ur back… from right here 💪💪
Anaxa tore his gaze away from the muted screen of his second monitor, right where his reference pictures - of which, by the title of his stream, should have, by all means, been a willow tree - usually were with all his preliminary digital sketches pulled up. Now, instead, it was all him . With a leather jacket clinging to bare, sweat-slicked shoulders, microphone gripped so tightly it was as if it had a debt to pay, voice raw, furious, and perfectly Mydeimos . His boyfriend seemed perfectly at home where he stood beneath spotlights and before roaring crowds from the other side of the crowd, and selfishly, Anaxagoras wondered if the ache haunted Mydei’s heart the way it did him.
Though if you asked him right about now, Anaxa would insist that he missed his boyfriend a normal amount. A totally normal amount.
“It’s Anaxagoras. A-na-xa-go-ras.” Anaxa snipped though not unkindly despite his sharp words, finally choosing to wear his glasses normally and simply accept the repercussions of his loose bangs as they came. Clearly his fans were observant enough to notice the well-worn black hoodie he sported being three sizes too big, sleeves rolled onto his wrist and hem hanging below his hips, though their assumptions couldn’t be more wrong. He simply chose not to acknowledge the rest of the comment, dipping his brush into the crimson and making a broad stroke across his otherwise empty canvas.
Dip, then stroke. Dip, then stroke.
Crimson was Mydei's - no, it was Mydeimos' color. Not just because that was his company's assigned official color but because it was in everything he did, everywhere he existed. Beneath the blaze of the stage’s spotlights, doused in sweat and soaking in the applause, he was crimson. The flush of his cheeks when he laughed at his own shitty dad jokes, bringing a heavy hand to slap down on his knee and another, gentler, to jostle an unimpressed Anaxa, he was crimson. In the t-shirts that have seen better days that Anaxa has begged with him to give up already , he was crimson. In the curve of his mouth after stealing a kiss from Anaxa’s lips, all boylike and mischievous, the gleam in his eyes promising him nothing good, he was crimson.
Now that he was gone, the only crimson in their shared apartment was the streaks of drying paint on the otherwise empty canvas. He really had meant to paint the willow tree tucked away by the riverside that he had seen earlier that week, yet crimson was what he reached for anyways. He did so seamlessly and instinctively as if his heart missed Mydeimos more than his mind did.
He found himself looking at the familiar movements on his second monitor once more. He’s watched this recording of this particular performance of Mydeimos’ tour so many times since the very moment he got his hands on it that he was certain that he could map out millisecond by millisecond every single micromovement Mydei made. Caelus and Stelle had gone to one of Mydei’s concerts in Penacony a week and a half ago, using every connection they had over there - of how they knew so many people was beyond him - to get front row, VIP seats on such short notice for one of the group’s final shows. When the terrible duo returned for their short trip to Amphoreus before whisking away to some unheard corner of the planet, they had slammed a hard drive into his chest, quoting that he looked like a grieving widow on stream before running along as if they were teenagers once more.
Admittedly, Anaxa would have been a tad bit more ruffled at their spontaneous visit - and even more upset at his reddened chest from the impact - had he not spent almost the entirety of Mydei’s tour swaddled in the very few oversized, well loved tees that Mydei had left behind, unable to stuff it into his personal luggage, and curled up on Mydei’s side of the bed that was rapidly losing the pomegranate smell Anaxa missed being doused in and consumed by.
He definitely missed Mydei the normal amount.
user381947923875 donated $20!
is that rising global rock star sensation mydei i spy in your glasses?! prof i didn’t know you fucked with rock like that 😼 i get it tho he’s a total hottie
Anaxa blinked once, then twice. “I suppose there’s a lot of things you don’t know I like,” he murmured with a small, crooked smile tugging at his mouth. It came out a lot quieter than he had gone for, not quite meant to be said aloud, much less for them, the chat. He paused, unashamedly watching the tiny Mydei in the corner of his screen approach the center of his stage with broad, confident strides. His back was facing Stelle’s camera, yet Anaxa could perfectly picture the smirk he donned as he ran his sinfully long fingers through his mane of blonde streaked red hair - unfairly attractive as always, Anaxa would have to... ahem, take matters into his own hands once their home felt like home again.
“There is a kind of beauty in a performance that you will find nowhere else.” His smile lingered, small and sad at the edges before he caught himself and cleared his throat, wearing his usual facade like a mask yet not making a move to look away from the ripple of Mydei’s muscles poorly hidden by his jacket. He rinsed his brush with a slow, mechanical drag of his wrist before dipping once more. “The ways in which artists allow their craft to consume them, to allow themselves the vulnerability that forces their true self to be seen if only for a moment.”
He stared with hooded eyes, ignoring the sudden spam of comments pouring into his chat, as the on-screen Mydei ripped his jacket off, exposing the full expanse of familiar red inked skin that Anaxa has spent many, many nights tracing, committing to memory to the point where he could map out with at least a 90% accuracy.
Ah yes, the beauty in a performance.
“What can I say,” Anaxa tore his eyes away from the screen, having no interest in a mostly empty screen as the concert lights dimmed, rendering the stage invisible to Stelle’s camera. “I’m feeling inspired. A tree always stands still. It isn’t going anywhere, and I’m sure that it won’t mind waiting for its painting.”
He dipped the brush into a muted gold, dragging it across the canvas to compliment the crimson in soft deliberate strokes as the shape of a spotlight came to fruition.
Anaxa loved seeing Mydei in gold, loved the way that the color seemed to cling to him, adorning the strands of his hair and dusting the edges of his cheekbones. He was a rather well known painter, even outside of social media, famous for his realistic pieces that put some cameras to shame. Yet, every time he tried to capture the way the gold melded together with the crimson and beige undertones to create a medley so distinctly of Mydeimos who caused stadiums to scream his name, it never seemed alive enough.
Tonight it was coming closer. Perhaps he would allow himself to crave Mydeimos’ presence beside him more honestly now. They do say that distance causes the heart to grow fonder, or perhaps it simply had its own way of sharpening the edges of loneliness plaguing his heart - no matter how much it hurt, and he tried to push the feelings away and stash them away in the deepest parts of his mind.
Night time was always the worst part of the day when Mydei was gone. Once the sun kissed the moon in a final goodbye, Mydei would do the same in turn every single night without fail. Shadows illuminating his path, Mydei would creep behind him like clockwork with silent feet as he attempted - keyword attempted, Anaxa would like to believe he gave him a good run for his money - to peel him away from where he had remained hunched over a canvas for the better part of half a day. Mydei always liked to say he glowed, face tucked into the crook of Anaxa's neck as he wrapped his arms around the smaller man and dragging hot puffs of air against his skin as he gently tugged him in such a way that was suspiciously familiar and suspiciously leading their bathroom. Said he looked like he too belonged in the night's sky, a shining star meant to guide him back home as if he were some sort of sailor lost at sea.
Mydei was a damned siren, a temptress when he wanted to drag Anaxa into their sheets.
A very successful one, at the very least. Every night he'd drag Anaxa into their sheets, though one might be able to argue that "drag" was a bit of a stretch. It was an unspoken ritual between them. With the city below their feet and paint drying in the next room, Mydei would bring Anaxa impossibly closer with an arm slung lazily across his waist caging him in. Even when they were this close - chest to chest, shoulder to shoulder, legs tangled together in a clumsy bundle of limbs - Mydei couldn't imagine a world where they were apart.
The thought of it made his hands ache to reach for his phone for a moment, gripping the handle of his brush just a fraction bit tighter before breathing in and loosening his grip with an exhale. He was never one to spend his days scrolling away on his phone, but he just wanted to see if there was anything waiting for him. Earlier, against his own muscle memory, his thumbs danced across his screen, typing, then deleting. Typing, then deleting, as his eyes trained itself at his last sent message - as if doing so would mean that at the very least, the ‘delivered’ would appear on his screen.
It wasn’t like Mydei to be that far from his phone, especially not when he was away for extended periods of time. Every night for the past three months Anaxa didn't need to fall asleep without a goodnight video from Mydei, depending on what the time zone difference was like. Or at the very least a group photo one of his bandmates, usually Hephaestion, forced him into - Anaxa always found himself chuckling at the two’s antics, typically ending with one of the two caught in a headlock as the other revelled in his victory.
He kept painting, letting the silence stretch. His calls hadn’t declined which was good, but were instead left to ring until they eventually stopped. Anaxa knew that Mydei was probably busy. The last time he had gone on tour, it had taken another three weeks after the final show for the band to stop with the post-promotions and stop filming extra content so that Mydeimos would be back where he belonged.
It wasn't that Anaxa believed he belonged to Anaxagoras - no, and Anaxa would dread to think of it that way. Mydei was far too free to be caged down to the likes of anybody. Even between the two of them, he was a song half finished, yet never written to be pinned to paper. Anaxa felt for him, ached for him, and even felt as though his entire axis was meant to only ever spin around him in the same way the Earth revolves around the Sun, but he knew that Mydeimos was always meant for motion, for greatness.
(Though, what Anaxa didn’t remember- or perhaps it just never crossed his mind, stuck between missed calls and half-finished canvases scattered around him - was that in all the chaos that came with the blindings lights and sound, all eyes on him, that it was always him , Anaxagoras, that Mydei kept searching for. Every show, every roaring stadium chanting his name, all the cities, all the faces just blurred together. Nothing ever felt like a true conclusion because to Mydeimos, the stage for all that he loved it, was never home . Home was the soft resonance of sage and pomegranate blending together. Home was the sound of rustled paper, messy sketches, and the scent of drying acrylic. Home was the quiet shape of Anaxa curled into his chest, content to speak in nothing but finger tracings across the canvas of his own body, an old lullaby from his hometown filling the very few empty spaces between where they lay pressed together.
The world may have craved Mydei from the Crown of Ichor. Yet, Anaxagoras was the one and only person who only wanted Mydeimos for who he was and nothing else.)
ginger (derogatory) donated $15!
veeeeery specific concert you’re watching there… prof anal we see you…
tearsinmymizisuaeyes donated $15!
public service announcement to anaxy poo poo, we can totally see you staring at that guy’s abs rn btw 👀is there something that you’d like to share with the class?! don’t even try to deny it we can see the reflection on your megamind glasses
doyourballshanglow donated $20!
we saw how you smiled when he took his jacket off earlier… what’s it like dating rockstar sensation and lead singer/guitarist mydeimos from hit band crown of ichor??
kittykittykitty donated $20!
just write his name on the canvas with a love poem attached to it and send it to him atp you COWARD 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️ (also where the hell did he get that footage lowkey like #needthat)
kittykittykitty donated $20!
hey chat,,, it's me again,,, and i realize the errors of my ways. you still write that love poem and give it to mydeimos (mydeimos read only with the vigor of a 6 year old with a puppy crush and no less) in hand with a big fat and WET kiss on the lips, i triple dog dare you
Anaxa would have loved to torment his viewers by not answering that, maybe giving a knowing look to the camera just to keep them on their toes and wringing out a couple more complaints about him from smear campaigns on twitter for love of the game. But, for once his mouth was far faster than his mind. “You are all making baseless assumptions.” He dipped his brush into beige, short flicks to his wrist as he watched his canvas slowly come to life.
Broad shoulders, golden lights, an indomitable presence that was impossible to miss even when in acrylics with a touch that only a lover could replicate. And that he was, not that anybody else needed to know that. Perhaps he liked the mystery - though day by day such a thing was becoming less, well, just that. “Regardless, again, I simply paint what inspires me.” Anaxa continued, fingers hovering over his canvas as the developing abstract figure would reach out to take his hand into its own the same way that Mydei would. “And beautiful things happen to inspire me the most.”
imrunningoutofnames donated $10!
you know it’s legal now right
meowmeowmeow donated $15!
not to like only talk about your hypothetical boyfriend, but like did you see the last show… i mean i’m sure you did like go gay people ig (happy pride y’all), but perhaps i’m just using my money to spread the word out to the uninformed… doing god’s work i suppose
Anaxa knew exactly what they were talking about.
There was not a single live performance of Mydei’s world tour that Anaxa hadn’t sat down to watch. A very easy feat considering the fact that he was self employed, even aside from his streaming gig, and set his own working hours. The final concert of the tour was no exception.
So there Anaxa was, curled up against the arm of their couch - a time that definitely made him miss Mydei just a little bit more than usual. It wasn’t that sitting on a rock hard human was, objectively, more comfortable than pressing against a cushioned arm rest, but he’d grown so accustomed to the heat radiating off of Mydei in waves that any ‘normal’ temperature felt completely off. Just as he was about to get up to retrieve a glass of water, Mydei slowed on stage.
That wasn’t normal.
Or at least, it hadn’t happened in any of the previous concerts of this tour. The energy dipped into something more sultry than what the band usually went for, a little bit more deliberate as the lights dimmed before shifting to a soft amber. Mydei stepped forward, guitar slung under one of his tattooed arms that seemed to deepen in the light chance, before reaching for the mic.
“This one,” he had started, voice quickly drowned by screaming fans, “this one is a little different than our usual gig. This is for someone out there watching… even if he isn’t here right now.” Mydei shot a crooked grin, peering straight into the camera dipping closer to his face with a softness usually reserved for just the two of them. “You know who you are.”
Mydei didn’t feel the need to explain himself any further. For those who were watching, for who this was meant for specifically, the timing said enough. No names, yet Mydei could not have called out for Anaxa any louder than he did. The glint of the ring on his middle finger drew Anaxa's attention for just a second, his own suddenly feeling like it burned before the bubble burst and Mydei opened his mouth once more.
It was vaguely familiar, like one of the melodies that Mydei had written for the two of them in the quiet. The same type that he’d hum absentmindedly in the kitchen, or while wrapped around Anaxa. Sometimes he’d sound them out half asleep on the couch when Anaxa decided to spend a bit too long for his liking bustling away in his office with the door cracked open, fine tuning as he went along. Those were always the songs that stayed with Anaxa the longest, the ones that he missed the most.
And now he could hear the final product.
It was breathtaking.
This wasn’t a setlist song, Anaxa knew that full well. This wasn’t for the crowd. This was for him . A silent confession carried across thousands of miles, across seas and oceans and disguised as a melody. If Mydei had it his way, it would have been a melody only for Anaxa’s ears, however he wasn’t there. But he knew that Anaxa would be listening to him all the same, always.
The lyrics felt like the peppered kisses Mydei loved leaving across his jawbone. Almost even like a secret whispered into his color. He was unable to stop the buckle of his knees, just falling, falling, falling under he sank into his couch once more. There was a version of him that lived in that song that he didn’t even know existed, a version of himself that he didn’t know Mydei even saw. But Mydei had always been the one to see past his walls, his flaws, his everything.
It was always Mydei.
He pretended not to hear the message come through on the speaker, leaning closer to the canvas as the pigment continued to bloom under the touch of his brush - measures, but never cold. He knew his chat had already probably started to busy themselves with trying to piece together whatever they could from older content to put two and two together. Neither of them had ever been particularly slick, or even quiet in their adoration for one another whether off camera or not. You just… had to look for it.
The painting was a little more familiar now. With a silhouette like that, it would be hard for there to be any mistake about it with arms outstretched beneath a blanket of light, loud and apologetic. Beneath the second layer of paint, and the very first curls of detail reflected in the light, however, it began to shift.
Anaxa moved slower with well practiced strokes just barely grazing the canvas. He painted with pauses and silences, each caress a confession with words he dared not say aloud. The sharp edges softened, his stance eased into something quieter. He wasn’t just golden because of the stage lights now, no longer painting from reference but rather from his own memory. This was the gold bleeding in through their drawn curtains, kissing each curve and edge of Mydei’s face in the mornings - a beauty carved out with no regard for the likes of a poor Anaxagoras’ feeble heart and should, quite frankly, be criminal. The gold that embraced Mydei as he drew two cups of tea, knowing all too well that one would remain forgotten on their counter, much to his displeasure.
It wasn’t just the public version of Mydei anymore, the loud and untouchable Mydei, but rather his Mydei. His Mydei who mouthed kisses on his shoulder between brush strokes - the incorrigible fool he was that insisted on hanging off of Anaxa’s shoulder until he’d give up and return to their shared bedroom. The same Mydei who insisted that the wooly blankets Anaxa kept on their bed were unnecessary if Anaxa just had him - though Anaxa had, on several occasions mind you, found him all tangled up with the very same blanket he was competing with. The very same Mydei who wore his heart on his sleeve, loud proclamations of love in a language that just the two of them shared. That was his Mydei, and nobody else’s.
Then his phone dinged with a little lion's roar, and there was only one thing, one person on Anaxa's mind.
Anaxa did not fling his brush, and he did not rush to check his phone. Any clips that would emerge from that particular stream where his fans swore up and down that it did happen were lying and were just very good video editors because that did not happen in any capacity. It was fraudulent, defamation, and a smear campaign on his good name.
Mydei 🦁: I miss you more than words can express. Can’t wait to see you.
Thirteen words. Nothing more, nothing less. Perfect punctuation, as was expected from Mydei, yet it lacked the dramatic flare that Anaxa usually carried for the both of them. Still, it was just so Mydeimos, and Anaxagoras could ask for no more than just that.
Anaxa stared at the message, paint dusted fingers hovering over the keyboard with a degree of hesitance unbeknownst to himself. It wasn’t like him to be quite this unsure, especially not between the two of them, but as the three dots appeared - a silent promise of something more - he couldn’t bring himself to say anything back. They appeared, then vanished. A beat passed and they came back, before disappearing once more.
Just as his thumb came in contact with his screen, he felt it. That subtle shift in the air. No matter where he went, it was like the room breathed for him, the air moving around him.
There wasn’t much sound to it, though. The faintest creak of their squeaky front door easing shut, softer than breath as if a certain someone were trying to remain undetected and far too soft to be heard by the naked ear. But Anaxa noticed. He always did, his heart skipping a beat before his mind even caught up to it.
A presence just oh so unmistakably Mydeimos .
The smell hit next. Faint traces of stuffed airports and cold hair, and most importantly, him . The faintest trace of warm pomegranate hung in the air, dulled by however many hours Mydei had likely spent holed up in some corner of the airport, ducking away from paparazzi and weaving through crowds as he did. Still, though it was no longer sharp and sweet, it was still deep and familiar just like the scent that was fighting for its life, clinging onto the very loose ends of the fabric that Anaxa was currently wearing.
Mydeimos was finally home.
“Well, that’s a wrap.” Anaxa said abruptly, already reaching for his mouse and completely unconcerned for what anyone else had to say about the matter. People could talk as much as they wanted, but he couldn’t find it in himself to particularly care. He swallowed the lump in his throat, hoping his voice came out steadier than he felt and definitely more steady than his shaking hand. “I’ll be finishing this up next stream. I have some important matters to tend to.” Without waiting a single second longer to see the way his chat exploded at the sudden shift, he reached out and clicked the blaring red button, the screen going dark just as quiet footsteps made their way closer to him.
Anaxa already knew. Of course he did.
The door swung open quietly, the soft click almost swallowed by the room’s stillness as the scent of pomegranate rushed in. Anaxa turned around and there he was, stood in his doorway. Tired eyes shadowed beneath messy hair, mask hanging off of his ear, shoulders heavy with the fatigue of thousands of miles traveled.
But he was home. Against all the silence and distance, he was home.
“Hey there, beautiful. Surprise?” Mydei’s voice was low and rough, a tired grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he leaned against the doorway. He hadn’t even put his backpack down, or even let go of his carry-on, his legs had simply taken him to where they knew home was. It wasn’t loud, wasn’t for anyone but the two of them.
Anaxa didn’t answer right away.
He simply rose from his chair, walked forward, and wordlessly pulled Mydei close by the front of his own - Anaxa’s new - hoodie, breathing into the warm, familiar scent. And then he was whole, like his world had finally remembered how to spin.
“Didn’t tell me you were coming.” It had meant to come out a lot more accusatory, maybe even just a pinch more angry than it did, but it was hard to come across as such with his face buried into Mydei’s collar. He wasn’t usually this… mushy. He was affectionate, for sure, in his own ways, but for now with his arms brought between Mydei’s broad back and his bag, clasped so tight it probably hurt, all that bravado was gone. “Could’ve sent me a text earlier. Or picked up my calls.”
“Wouldn’t have been much of a surprise if you knew I was coming.” Mydei hummed, voice low as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Anaxa’s forehead - gentle, reverent, and almost apologetic. He attempted to nuzzle his cheek into the crown of Anaxa’s head, bringing him impossibly closer as he teased his weight further onto the man pressed to his chest.
But Anaxa pulled back slightly, brows knit together as he glared up at the man, not necessarily in anger but in something a bit more… needy. A slender finger jabbed straight into the middle of Mydei's chest before he opened his mouth again. “That is not how you kiss someone you haven’t seen in three months.” His voice strung somewhere between a demand and a whine - though Anaxagoras did not whine , thank you very much. “You will kiss me properly, and you will do that now , you asshole. Am I nothing but a view to you?”
Mydei blinked, caught off guard for half a second, before letting out a quiet breathless chuckle. There he was, that was his Anaxagoras alright. His lips curled as his chest warmed, already reaching up to take Anaxa's hand into his own. “Yes sir .” He ducked his head as his eyes softened with something a bit more real, cupping Anaxa’s face with his other hand and meeting his gaze before stopping a hair breadth away - so close that he could feel every exhale Anaxa made. “Gods, I missed you so much Anaxagoras.”
Then he did as he was told.
There was no hesitation as he brought their faces together, hands floundering just a little as if they didn’t know what to do as they slipped under Anaxa’s - his - hoodie and bringing them hoisting him upwards. Legs wrapped around Mydei’s torso in pure muscle memory as the skin to skin contact made the heat prickling the palms of his hand run up his arms and down his spine. He tilted his head and delved deeper as Anaxa dragged his hands across the sharp curve of his jawline, as if he were trying to memorize every crook and cranny Mydei had to offer him all over again.
When Anaxa took his bottom lip between his teeth in a delicate nip, Mydei only pressed deeper, so that nobody would be able to tell where one ends and the other starts. He swallowed the groan Anaxa let out as he tried to lick his mouth open, trying to open him up. He drank up the desperation, all the late night calls, the texts, the videos sent to each other, everything. Everything Anaxa had to offer for him, and him to Anaxa, he drank up like a man starved.
Mydei kissed him like he was on stage. As if his heart was in his mouth, too large for his chest. It was all consuming flames and heated breath, the type that left no room for imagination without ever needing to say a word. Anaxa responded in kind, claiming every inch of space between them and allowing himself to be set ablaze in the face of Mydei’s passion.
They broke apart with a heavy breath, kiss drunk and chests heaving.
Their mouths met again but a moment later, slower and lighter this time with the same reverence people give to fragile things. Less about urgency - they already had each other here - and more about remembering one another. Mydei allowed himself to be grasped and held in such a ferocity that implied Anaxa truly believed that Mydei could exist without being at his side. He was pressing against him oh so gently, a sweet promise left on his lips before pulling away.
“I’m home.”
Anaxa sighed, making a half winded attempt to wiggle his way out of Mydei’s hold, but the man only gripped firmer - not enough to leave a mark, or even enough to hurt, but just enough to really let it sink in that Mydeimos was here with him. Still, that did nothing to help with the offensive overtones that were so indisputably travel-like Anaxa couldn’t help but notice now that the adrenaline faded. “Unhand me now, heathen. And go take a shower before you get into my bed, please and thank you very much. You reek of stale coffee and airport air.”
“I thought you liked it when I held you like this. Also, don’t you mean our bed?”
“Go shower before you get in my bed. I meant what I said, said what I meant. Get to it.”