Starstruck on You [Mile x Apo] [MileApo]

Chapter 2: You Don't Know Me

"Mile, Mile, Mile—"

His answer – a harsh slurp, a quick flicker and swipe of his long, wet tongue against hot skin that throbbed, the shaky intake of breath that followed - then a pause till finally an elongated moan that filled the room spilled. It was tale telling to his skills. A smirk glued to his lips in a self-righteous manner.

Hands snapped forward, fastened to his hair, the strands held back by resistant hair gel gave way to the frantic search for solace, a hold, and the body beneath him quivered, spasmed, and arched upward.

"M-Mile-oooh-Mile."

He peeled back despite the iron grip, shifted to let them ride the wave of pleasure, it let his black irises take in the form sprawled out on the bed, naked head to toe, legs spread readily. Mile never bothered to taste or swallow another's cum or a woman's orgasm. His oral fixation limited to just letting his mouth work its magic.

Himself partially clad in his denim, blouse forgotten to the side, his hands on either side of those hips on the white sheets and fingers curled into the fabric. His body nestled partially between those bare thighs, braced by his arms to not sink down.

The thought of their skin touching almost made him frown but Mile masked it as he panted to catch his breath, expression calm despite his partner's disheveled state.

His gaze traced the length of short milky legs, too short, to the soft lines of their waist, too wide for my hands, up the flat chest where dusty nubs stuck up in need of attention on a flushed chest, too pale, and settled to a pair of murky browns that melted, admired and prayed for a continuation, wrong color.

"Mile-so good..." The voice not HIS.

His name. A mantra. The singsong way it was echoed in an accolade to his tongue's ministrations. It was delicious, electric, and a motivator to continue into the night.

Normally.

Sex was a mindless blur for him. An outlet for his body to release taut, wound-up tension, draw inspiration from like a fire that always burned after a particularly good fuck for a new song, a vigorous activity that held no feelings, no sloppy or heavily involved emotions, no expectations.

It was not that he was unsatisfying or not sculpted from the finest marble with a tongue and cock the love god, Eros himself, would envy or lacked in any physical capacity, sexual prowess or ability, it was his partners.

Mile was convinced he wasn't the problem; THEY were the reason for his abstinence.

You know who the problem is, starts with an A, ends with a Po, his brain interjected jovial, mockingly, and his shoulders instantly sagged.

Again? Fuck him sideways as he sighed at the very inkling of that name.

A vivid pair of light browns that left their impression, as livid as they were, and made camp in Mile's mind. They built an entire night dreamscape for him that daunted, teased, and dripped into his daydreams. He saw them everywhere: in his coffee with swirls of light caramel syrup that contrasted the dark liquid, the tiger eyes jewelry that decked department store windows he walked past on the way to the studio, or even a kid's toffee lollipop as they waited at a cross walk for traffic to stop.

He remembered the kid got weirded out by his intense stare at the toffee, offered it before running off with their mother's hand to cross, Mile left standing at the edge with a confused expression. He still had that treat in his house somewhere.

Taunted to the point that his work was affected, bandmates amused at his predicament, and he hated it. Practices were wasted to his mind drifting, his libido worked up, his fingers hitting too hard and the song going off key. Everyone could see that he was clearly, hopelessly distracted.