The Worse Nurse

     After their entanglement things went back to how they were, more or less. Whenever Actavio initially seated himself at the bar’s counter he would occasionally take a hardly noticeable glance at Sylas, and in his eyes it was still consistent progress. Before they slept together, his crush didn’t even bother to do that. He was getting there, he just needed another way in.

Strangely enough, Actavio started to participate in the ring’s matches more often after their encounter, so he used this as an entry point. More frequently did Sylas go to the underground ring, specifically on Fridays which Lorriane claimed the champion was more likely to fight, and fought he did. Mostly in pools or money matches and rarely would a genuine challenger appear, and today wasn’t any different.

The announcer walked into the ring to introduce the fighters and rile the crowd while Lorriane and Sylas watched from on high.

Perched on the edge of his seat, he lit a cigarette and kept his eyes on Actavio’s glittering snow hood.

“You really like him huh?” Lorraine said in a semi-tease, intentionally leaving the prod open and vague to garner a reaction.

Flustered from the sudden question, Sylas coughs his smoke as he inhales improperly then tries to play it off in a nonchalant response. “What?”

“The champion who else!”

“He’s just a good fighter.”

“That’s it?”

“Have you ever known me to like someone like that?”

“I never said anything about kissy smoochy, YOU said that.”

“You–ugh!”

Lorraine adopts a broad smirk. “So?”

“Fuck off.”

Sylas smothers his cigarette in the ashtray, redirecting his focus back to the match. It had already started in the midst of their quarrel; Actavio was up against some scrawny looking guy which would be an easy win for him, but for whatever reason he was on the defensive. Actavio was spending more time sidestepping his opponent’s attacks which seemed more like slashes and less like attempts at punching.

“Weapons aren’t allowed right?”

“No, but…”

Lorrianne seemed to have noticed Actavio’s unusual movements as well—his opponent had to have snuck in a hidden blade of sorts. Neither of them held any doubt that the champion could handle the situation himself, yet still, Sylas found himself disquieted, slightly swaying with each of Actavio’s airtight dodges.

Then, out of the blue his opponent openly flashed the knife in a wild craze. It seemed like he was blurting something but it was barely audible due to the blaring uproar. The crowd gasped and booed at the sight and security personnel were already making their way to detain the sickly man.

They lunged forward in an attempt to lodge a slice and instead of dodging Actavio grabbed the knife by its steel blade. For a moment the crazed man was stunned into stillness, and Actavio used this brief window of opportunity to shift the momentum into his favor. He twisted the man’s arm around his back and forced him to the ground, letting security do the rest.

Sylas made sure to stay out of Actavio’s way when they were at the underground ring but every part of him shrieked in desire to verify his safety. All he could do was watch as it all played out, and sure, Actavio might’ve been fine now…

Wait, was he fine?

He was holding his head, stumbling every couple of steps as he tried to exit the fighting ring. Sylas was watching the entire time, he knew that Actavio didn’t sustain any more injuries than the slice of his palm from securing the knife. Was it exhaustion? No, he’s never faltered like that from being tired.

Sylas skyrocketed from the armchair, shouting at Lorriane on his way out, “Have someone test that guy’s knife!”

“Huh??”

“JUST DO IT!!”

Dashing out of the room, Sylas forced his way through the onslaughts of people shoving as much as he had to and ignoring all of the insults and near brawls being hurled at him because of it. He needed to get to Actavio before someone else did. Someone with undeniably worse intentions.

As soon as he reached him, Actavio fell forward right into Sylas’s arms.

“It’s alright, I got you.”

Sylas could barely make out his face between the mask and hood, but judging from his glossed eyes he knew he was right to be worried. He held the back of his hand against Actavio’s forehead. Scalding hot. Unmistakably a horrid fever and incredibly likely not from a sudden natural illness.

“Stay with me, alright? I’ll take you to your car.”

He threw an arm over his shoulder to give Actavio the needed stability, then forced his way out again with a mesh of gentleness for his love and aggression for the masses. It was hard to discern, but Actavio was mumbling something on their way out that Sylas couldn’t catch from the deafening sounds in the ring.

Finally emerging outdoors, Sylas had the space to fully throw his crush over his back. The rapid pulsing of Actavio’s heart and burning fever toiled at his emotions in a conflicting pull.

“Actavio, where did you park?”

Barely audible, his voice came out in a broken mutter, “...Nn…orth…alley..”

It wasn’t much to go off of, but he had an inference as to where it was. Luckily for him, he knew the streets well enough and within ten minutes he scarcely spotted the black sedan, well camouflaged in the dark alley.

Sifting through Actavio’s pockets he retrieved his keys and unlocked the vehicle. Evidently, the mob boss was in NO condition to drive, so he took it upon himself to seat Actavio on the passenger side and drive himself; although it had been awhile since he drove he had little other choice.

Sylas glanced at Actavio. His breathing was heavy and short, like he was gasping for air.

Heart in his throat, Sylas punched in the address of the studio apartment he luckily saved and drove.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once they parked, Sylas lugged Actavio over his back again and carried him to the second floor. After several trials and errors he finally slotted in the correct key and opened the door to the apartment, leaving the lights off so as to not strain Actavio’s eyes. At the least he was right about one thing, someone did come in and clean up the sheets. Not just the sheets, but the rest of the apartment as well, not that it needed much cleaning anyway.

Sylas set his crush down in the center of the bed, then went to the bathroom’s medicine cabinet to see what he can scavenge. Most of it was simple over the counter things: tylenol, pain reliever, aspirin—nothing really for a fever, so the old fashioned methods would have to do.

He got a rag from the bathroom and a bowl from the kitchen, filling it with water and dropping in some handfuls of ice cubes until the bowl clouded with condensation; then, he placed both the rag and the bowl on the nightstand, remembering the cut on his hand.

Using some simple first-aid he cleaned and bandaged Actavio’s wound then went back to his current dilemma.

“Actavio?”

…..

No response.

Sylas tried lightly shaking him, but still nothing. Actavio still held a high fever.

On the bright side–if that can even be said right now–his breathing slowed to deep inhales and exhales.

If he had a fever then it’d be better to get him out of those clothes…

Hands wavering, Sylas removed Actavio’s mask, setting it beside the bowl of ice water. His face was beet red, cheeks flushed and blooming like a rose.

The delinquent slapped his own cheeks. Sylas get your act together!!!

For the time being there was no way of knowing what afflicted the mafia boss, and it would be a gruesome few days until then. For Actavio to withstand it, and for Sylas to contain himself.

With absolute care, he removed Actavio’s white jacket then folded it and placed it on one of the kitchen stools.

Now for the hard part. His shirt.

Actavio was wearing a thin, long sleeve turtleneck that was hugging every curve and crevice of his torso and arms.

Fuck he looks sexy in a turtleneck. And slim fit? What a cock tease..

A few of Sylas’s fingers crept underneath the thin fabric. They barely lifted it by a few inches before swiftly retracting

No! Nope. No way. He’ll kill me. I’ll kill me!

Trying to distract himself, he dipped the rag into the bowl, thoroughly soaking it and wringing out the excess before draping it across Actavio’s forehead.

Sylas called out again in a whisper, “Actavio?”

….

Still nothing.

Now Sylas was pacing around the room; he had been for the last ten minutes, ruffling his long forest green strands all the while taking occasional glances at the unconscious Actavio.

Just take off his shirt. You did it once before. This time not sexual. Just take off his shirt. Just take off his shirt!

Sylas slaps his cheeks again to straighten himself out. Finally with a deep breath, he sits on Actavio, hovering over and straddling him.

He looked so vulnerable underneath him, so helpless. It had been well over a few months since they slept together. Who could blame him for having a little taste?

….

The delinquent slapped his cheeks a third time. It wasn’t working its magic anymore.

I can’t do it.

….

“Actavio?”

….

Nothing but his slow, heavy breaths.

….

Sylas’s hands snuck under Actavio’s turtleneck, slowly, slowly, slowwwllly lifting it higher and higher, letting it fold above his chest and revealing his pecs. From how high Sylas’s temperature rose one would think he caught the same ailment as Actavio, alas it was just his libido overcoming his morals and rationality. His mouth unknowingly maintained a partially agape stance as he groped the mob boss’s breasts, to which Actavio slightly whimpered.

He…likes it?

Any restraint Sylas had was quickly dwindling. Every time he compressed the tits Actavio would slightly fidget and his breathing would stutter. An erection started to form under Sylas’s zipper from hearing Actavio’s soft, divine voice, like the deceptive kiss of a siren leading a sailor to their doom.

A little bit wouldn’t hurt…right?

He gave the peaks a break, extending his caress to the length of Actavio’s warm abdomen and outlining the individual muscles. Then, he went lower, gripping Actavio by his waist, then hips.

Sylas rubbed his clothed and contained erection against Actavio’s limp cock before quickly giving up on the affair and switching to an over-the-pants handjob. It worked like a charm considering that he was wearing joggers instead of his usual slacks for once (and he usually did when he participated in the ring).

The mob boss squirmed more, welcoming the soft fondle of his private. Leaning in, Sylas planted an affection peck on his lips, then a few more until their lips were welded together. His tongue was much hotter than before, unquestionably from his current fever. It only made it more enticing to consume.

Sylas foraged through the orifice, swallowing as much of his crush’s saliva as he could in one go. When they parted, a feeble translucent strand still connected their tongues until it broke under the weight of gravity.

Now Sylas slid his body down in a crouch so that his mouth would reach Actavio’s groin. The fabric to his undergarments was still clean, causing Sylas to sigh in relief. There wasn’t the slightest chance he’d get away with this if Actavio’s clothes were soiled.

The dick popped out of his underwear like a children’s toy. It had the faint aroma of its owner’s scent: usually cologne but his natural scent was more herbal. Sylas almost salivated at the sight of his crush–or more accurately his stunning cock. At first he hesitated to engorge the hot rod, but as soon as the tip sunk into his mouth he took the rest of the dick along with it.

He’d like to imagine Actavio running his rough hands through his long hair, clasping it tightly as he sucked him off, but this will do for now. He finally got to taste that light saltiness that accompanied his beads of sweat, now with some unexpected but gladly welcomed heat.

After giving the entirety of it a slow swallow, he removed his mouth then licked the sides in broad strokes, giving it a few kisses along the way. Then he made his way to the head where he used his tongue to trace the curves and gradually pumped the shaft some more. After having his fill of doting, he enveloped it all again past his lips.

What once started off as a pleasant and slow blowjob quickly turned into Sylas frantically bobbing his head as his lust for his crush finally won over him. A gag danced around his throat the more reckless he became, especially with the added precum steadily threatening to flood into his airway.

His unconscious crush was still squeamish and drawing whimpers. It probably wasn’t good for his fever to be stimulated in such a way but some part of Sylas didn’t care. Who could blame him after being deprived of his love for so long? It was just a harmless taste, and it wasn’t like there was anything he could do for the time being. If he took Actavio to the hospital they’d be spotted together and who knows what kind of headlines that would make, which translated into a headache for Actavio to deal with and of all things he didn’t want that.

An unfiltered moan expelled from the mafia boss as he spasmed, almost entirely ejaculating into Sylas’s mouth although a few streaks managed to splatter on his face. Readily and happily Sylas swallowed his love’s seed, going so far as to collect the streams on his face and devour them as well.

But it was only the beginning.

Originally he didn’t want to take advantage of Actavio’s vulnerability at all, and then he got carried away with what was just supposed to be undressing him to mediate the increase in his temperature. After giving his crush a blowjob he only craved more—yearned more. He could just use Actavio’s thighs, but with how high his fever was? It really felt like a once in a lifetime chance.

“...Actavio?”

….

Still unconscious. The only change he seemed to have had was that his breathing was a bit more stuttered now but that was no doubt because of his earlier orgasm.

Sylas slipped off the lower half of Actavio’s clothing, letting the turtleneck remain rolled above his boobs. Sure, he could use lube again, but his mouth really wanted to know what his ass tasted like. After all, it was right there! Fluttering a flirtatious pucker, just begging to be penetrated.

Gladly obliging, Sylas kissed the entrance a few times then slipped his tongue inside. He writhed it about, indulging in Actavio’s silently approving squirms.

As much as he wanted to continue, his painful erection was pleading otherwise. Sylas removed his lips, aligning the ring with his throbbing girth instead as he perched one of Actavio’s calves over his shoulder.

“Sorry, I just…really fucking want you right now...Hah..shit…” He whispered in a raspy voice, ogling Actavio’s frame as he spoke.

Who could not lose their self control when he looked like this? Was he trying to get Sylas’s attention with this seductive turtleneck and perky chest?

Sylas parted Actavio’s walls, inch by inch until the hilt met with his hole.

What would happen if he woke up? Actavio would surely be enraged, or maybe too delirious from his illness to tell what’s going on. That was wishful thinking though. What if Actavio never spoke to him again?

It was too late for that now, his cock was already inside. Sylas gave a thorough kiss to Actavio’s thigh, borderline resulting in a hickey; then, he gently thrust with the affection of a lover. He wasn’t going to be as violent as their first night, Actavio was sick! At least that’s what he told himself.

But those adorable flushed cheeks said otherwise. Oh how he wished to see his shining hazel-blue eyes right now.

Just as Sylas had expected, his rectum was much warmer than it had been previously and fuck did it feel amazing. After barely a few tender drives Sylas lost whatever sense of self-control he had left. He tightened his hold of Actavio and shifted gears, pummeling the depths of his love’s rear.

The bed started to creak and groan again and Sylas all but hoped the sounds wouldn’t wake up his crush…though some part of him was thrilled by the prospect. If he got caught, then Actavio would know how much he loved him–how absolutely devoted he was to him.

In the throes of his mind was a torrent of ideologies fighting in a headlong battle. Wasn’t this considered assault? Who cares, he slept with him before. If you really loved him you wouldn’t do this. Or are you doing this because you love him? This isn’t what love is. It is to him. What else is he supposed to do? It’s his fault for not looking at him. Can’t he see that he loves him?

Sylas vehemently shook his head: he wasn’t the type for these kinds of moral questions. All he ever did was act on instinct and impulse and that’s gotten him this far.

Actavio’s rim clenched around his shaft, progressively loosening from the aggression which pried it wider. Hopefully he wouldn’t be in pain tomorrow—or maybe he did want him to feel it. He looked the sexiest when he was angry. Remember when he moaned his name? What if he roared his name in fury instead?

Caught in the wave of his own imagination, Sylas nearly forgot to pull out before orgasming. Just in time, he came onto Actavio’s breasts; it’d be incredibly difficult to fully clean him from within if he was unconscious. After he caught some of his breath, he jerked his unconscious crush off until he reached a second climax, then lapped the lactic fluid from his palm.

“...Actavio?”

….

Sylas sighed, mostly in relief with a dash of loneliness. It was going to be a long night.