[BL] Neighborly Bonding

The elevator dinged on the twenty-third floor, and Daniel Nguyen stepped out into the carpeted hallway of the Meridian Towers, his sneakers sinking into the plush burgundy fibers that stretched endlessly in both directions. The floor-to-ceiling windows at either end of the corridor framed the Chicago skyline like a painting—steel and glass monuments piercing the clouds, the late afternoon sun bleeding gold across Lake Michigan's distant shimmer. Daniel paused outside his door, 23B, fishing his keys from the pocket of his gym shorts, when he noticed the moving boxes stacked outside 23A.

He hadn't seen Mrs. Chen since Christmas, when she'd brought him leftover egg rolls from her granddaughter's wedding. The unit had been quiet for months, and Daniel had assumed the elderly woman was visiting family overseas again. But these boxes—dozens of them, labeled in sharp black marker with words like "BOOKS," "COMPUTER," "KITCHEN," "CLOTHES"—suggested something more permanent.

Daniel unlocked his door and stepped inside his studio apartment, tossing his keys onto the entry table. At twenty-one, he'd been living alone since his parents helped him put down the deposit on this place eighteen months ago, a graduation gift that felt more like a bribe to keep him in the city while they relocated to Scottsdale. The apartment was modest—four hundred square feet of open-concept living with a galley kitchen and a balcony just wide enough for two chairs—but the view was spectacular, and the building's amenities included a pool and a gym that Daniel used religiously.

He peeled off his sweaty t-shirt and dropped it in the hamper, catching his reflection in the full-length mirror mounted on the bathroom door. Five-foot-ten, swimmer's build, chestnut hair that fell in messy waves across his forehead, green eyes that his ex-boyfriend Marcus had called "disarmingly pretty." Daniel wasn't vain, but he knew he looked good—hours in the pool had carved definition into his abs and shoulders, and his skin held a perpetual tan from the rooftop deck.

He grabbed a protein shake from the fridge and settled onto his couch, scrolling through his phone while the air conditioning hummed against the August heat. Through the wall, he could hear muffled thumps and scrapes—the sounds of furniture being dragged across hardwood. Whoever was moving in seemed to be working alone.

Daniel finished his shake and decided to shower. As he passed the front door on his way to the bathroom, he heard footsteps in the hallway, followed by the beep of the keypad lock on 23A. Curiosity got the better of him. He peered through the peephole.

The guy was tall—at least six-foot-three, maybe six-four—and built like a reed. He wore khaki pants that hung loose on narrow hips, a button-down shirt that was coming untucked, and wire-rimmed glasses that kept sliding down a prominent nose. His hair was dark brown, cut short but messy, sticking up in the back like he'd been running his hands through it. He carried a box labeled "FRAGILE" against his chest, his knobby wrists protruding from sleeves that were slightly too short.

Daniel watched as the guy fumbled with his keys, nearly dropping the box twice before managing to unlock the door. He disappeared inside, and Daniel pulled away from the peephole, filing the image away. New neighbor. Tall. Skinny. Awkward. Probably some tech bro who could afford the rent hike that had inevitably followed Mrs. Chen's departure.

The next morning, Daniel was running late for his shift at the coffee shop when he nearly collided with the new neighbor in the hallway. The guy was bent over, tying his shoelaces, and Daniel had to swerve to avoid stepping on his fingers.

"Shit, sorry," Daniel said, steadying himself against the wall.

The guy looked up, and Daniel got his first real look at his face. Pale skin with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, dark eyes magnified slightly by the glasses, a jawline that was sharp enough to suggest he might actually be handsome if he ever filled out. He blinked up at Daniel, mouth slightly open, and Daniel noticed his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

"No, no, I'm sorry," the guy stammered, scrambling to his feet. He was even taller standing up, looming over Daniel by a good five inches. "I should have— I wasn't watching where— I'm Gus."

He thrust out a hand, long fingers and prominent knuckles, and Daniel shook it. Gus's palm was clammy.

"Daniel. I live across the hall. 23B."

"Right, yes, I saw the mail slot." Gus pushed his glasses up his nose with his index finger, a nervous gesture. "I just moved in. Obviously. The boxes. I mean, you probably saw the boxes."

"I did," Daniel said, smiling despite himself. Gus's awkwardness was almost endearing, like a newborn deer learning to walk. "Welcome to the building. The elevator's usually pretty reliable, but avoid it during rush hour. The gym on three is decent, and the super lives in the basement if you need anything."

"Thank you," Gus said, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "That's very kind. I'm not very good at... this. Meeting people. Talking to them. I mean, I can talk, obviously, I'm talking right now, but—"

"It's fine," Daniel laughed. "I'm running late for work, but we should grab a beer sometime. Introduce you to the building properly."

Gus's face lit up, surprised and pleased. "I'd like that. Yes. A beer. Or coffee. Whatever's appropriate. I don't really know what's appropriate. Social cues are... not my strong suit."

"We'll figure it out," Daniel said, backing toward the elevator. "See you around, Gus."

"See you," Gus echoed, standing in the hallway with his untucked shirt and his too-short sleeves, watching Daniel go.

Daniel thought about Gus intermittently throughout his shift—mostly because the guy was so strikingly different from the usual Meridian Towers residents, who tended toward finance bros and pharmaceutical sales reps with gym memberships and spray tans. Gus looked like he should be working in a library or a research lab, not living in a luxury high-rise with floor-to-ceiling windows and granite countertops.

But then, Daniel reminded himself, you never knew what people did for a living. Maybe Gus was a crypto millionaire. Maybe he'd invented an app. Maybe his parents were loaded, like Daniel's. The building attracted all kinds.

Three days later, Daniel was coming home from a late workout when he found Gus sitting in the hallway outside 23A, surrounded by what looked like the entire contents of his apartment's electrical panel.

"Uh," Daniel said, stopping. "You okay there, neighbor?"

Gus looked up, and Daniel saw that his glasses were smudged with something—grease, probably—and there was a streak of dirt across his cheek. His hair was standing up worse than before, and his t-shirt had a hole near the collar.

"The electricity," Gus said, his voice hollow. "It's gone. Everything's gone. I was trying to install a smart switch and I think I crossed some wires and now the whole unit is dead and I don't know how to fix it and the super isn't answering his phone and I have a deadline tomorrow for a paper that's due and all my research is on my computer which needs electricity to function because it's not 1987 and I can't write with a pen because my handwriting looks like a serial killer's ransom note."

He said all of this in one breath, his long fingers clutching a wire cutter like it might save him.

Daniel set down his gym bag. "Okay. First, put down the wire cutter before you electrocute yourself. Second, I know a little about electrical work. Let me take a look."

"You do?" Gus's eyes were wide behind his smudged lenses.

"I renovated my parents' basement one summer. I'm not an electrician, but I can probably figure out what you did." Daniel crouched down next to the panel, squinting at the tangle of wires Gus had exposed. "Jesus, Gus. Did you turn off the breaker before you started messing with this?"

"I... may have skipped that step," Gus admitted quietly.

"Okay, well, the good news is you're not dead. The bad news is you probably tripped the main breaker and maybe fried the sub-panel. Where's the building's electrical room?"

"Basement," Gus said miserably. "But it's locked. I tried."

"I know where the super keeps the spare key," Daniel said, standing up. "Come on. We'll get your power back on, and then you're buying me that beer."

Gus scrambled to his feet, gathering his tools with trembling hands. "I'll buy you a case. A keg. I'll name my firstborn after you. Daniel Jr. has a nice ring to it, don't you think? Very distinguished."

"Let's start with the beer," Daniel laughed, leading the way to the emergency stairs.

The electrical room in the basement was hot and smelled like ozone. Daniel found the main breaker for unit 23A and flipped it back on, then spent twenty minutes tracing circuits and resetting switches while Gus hovered behind him, apologizing every time Daniel grunted at a particularly stubborn connection.

"You're not going to set the building on fire, are you?" Gus asked as Daniel tightened a terminal screw.

"Not today," Daniel promised. "But seriously, man, hire an electrician next time. This stuff can kill you."

"I know, I know. I just thought... I like to understand how things work. I thought I could figure it out from a YouTube video. I'm usually good at figuring things out. I'm a researcher. It's what I do."

"What do you research?"

"Physics," Gus said. "Theoretical. Mostly quantum field theory, though lately I've been working on some stuff with condensed matter that might actually have practical applications. Which is why the deadline is important. My advisor wants the draft by Friday."

Daniel finished his work and wiped his hands on his shorts. "Well, Doctor Gus, your electricity should work now. Try not to rewire anything else without professional help."

"PhD candidate," Gus corrected, then blushed. "Not a doctor yet. Probably never will be at the rate I'm going. I'm twenty-six and still writing my dissertation. Most of my cohort has already defended."

"You're twenty-six?" Daniel asked, surprised. With his awkward mannerisms and his too-big clothes, Gus had seemed younger, somehow. More vulnerable.

"Is that old?" Gus asked, worried.

"It's fine. I'm twenty-one. Just finished my undergrad in May."

"Oh," Gus said, and something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe, or reassessment. "You seem older. More together. I was definitely not living alone in a high-rise at twenty-one. I was in a dorm with three other physics majors and we had a roach problem and a roommate who played the didgeridoo at 3 AM."

Daniel laughed, picturing it. "Come on. Let's go make sure your lights work. And then I expect that beer."

They rode the elevator up together, standing awkwardly side by side. Gus smelled like solder and nervous sweat and something else—something clean underneath, like soap or laundry detergent. Daniel found himself looking at Gus's hands, which were surprisingly elegant for someone so clumsy, long-fingered and pale against the dark fabric of his khakis.

The lights in 23A worked. Gus let out a sound that was almost a sob of relief and immediately started checking outlets, muttering to himself about voltage and amperage. Daniel leaned against the doorframe, watching him. The apartment was a mirror image of Daniel's own, but where Daniel's space was minimal and organized—grey couch, glass coffee table, framed posters from art museums—Gus's was chaos. Books stacked in teetering towers, papers spread across every surface, a futon that looked like it had been salvaged from a college dumpster, and a desk that held three monitors and what appeared to be a homemade server rack.

"You need furniture," Daniel observed.

"I need a lot of things," Gus agreed, surfacing from behind his desk. "But the electricity works. Thank you, Daniel. Seriously. I don't know what I would have done."

"Called an actual electrician eventually," Daniel said. "But you're welcome. Now, about that beer."

Gus's face fell. "I don't actually have any beer. I don't drink much. Social situations plus alcohol equals... bad decisions. For me, I mean. Not that drinking with you would be a bad decision. Just that I make them. Bad decisions. Frequently."

"Okay," Daniel said, amused. "How about coffee? Do you have coffee?"

"I have coffee," Gus said, brightening. "I have very good coffee. Single origin. Ethiopian. I grind it myself because pre-ground coffee is a crime against nature."

"Now you're speaking my language," Daniel said. "Make me a cup and we'll call it even."

Gus's kitchen was barely functional—two mugs, a French press, and a hot plate that looked like a fire hazard—but the coffee was genuinely excellent, rich and complex with notes of blueberry and chocolate. They sat on Gus's salvaged futon, which was more comfortable than it looked, and talked while the sun set over the city.

Daniel learned that Gus had grown up in suburban Ohio, the only child of two engineers who had encouraged his academic pursuits to the exclusion of almost everything else. He'd skipped two grades in high school, graduated from MIT at nineteen, and had been grinding through a PhD program at the University of Chicago ever since. He had no friends in the city, no hobbies outside of work, and had moved into the Meridian Towers because it was walking distance to campus and he'd gotten a small inheritance from a great-aunt that covered the deposit.

"I know I seem weird," Gus said, staring into his coffee mug. "I'm aware. I've been told. Multiple times. By multiple people. Usually right before they stop returning my calls."

"You don't seem weird," Daniel said. "You seem... intense. Focused. A little socially rusty, maybe, but that's not a crime."

"It's exhausting," Gus said quietly. "Being around people. Trying to interpret all the signals, the body language, the subtext. It's like everyone else got a manual that I never received. So I mostly just... don't. I work, and I read, and I exist in my own head where things make sense."

Daniel thought about his own life—the casual hookups with guys from apps, the easy banter with coworkers, the effortless social navigation that Gus found so draining. He felt a strange protectiveness toward this awkward, brilliant man who sat hunched on his terrible futon, his knees drawn up to his chest because his legs were too long for the furniture.

"Well," Daniel said, setting down his mug. "You don't have to interpret signals with me. I'll be direct. I like you, Gus. You're interesting. And you make good coffee. We should hang out more."

Gus looked at him, really looked at him, and Daniel saw something shift in his expression—surprise, and then a tentative hope. "I'd like that," Gus said. "I think. If I don't mess it up."

"You won't mess it up," Daniel promised, standing up. "I'm going to head home. Early shift tomorrow. But come find me if you blow up any more appliances."

"I'll try to restrain myself," Gus said, following him to the door.

They stood in the hallway, the space between them charged with something Daniel couldn't quite name. Gus was so tall, Daniel realized, taller than he'd initially thought, with broad shoulders that his ill-fitting clothes couldn't quite hide. Up close, Daniel could see the individual freckles on his nose, the small scar above his eyebrow, the way his Adam's apple moved when he swallowed.

"Goodnight, Daniel," Gus said, his voice softer than before.

"Goodnight, Gus."

Daniel crossed the hall to his own door, feeling Gus's eyes on him until he closed it behind him.

---

The next week brought a heat wave that sent temperatures soaring into the high nineties, the humidity turning Chicago into a sauna. Daniel's air conditioning worked overtime, but on Thursday night, he came home to find his unit making a grinding noise and blowing warm air.

"Perfect," he muttered, standing on his coffee table to check the vent. "Just perfect."

He called the super, who didn't answer. He called the building management line, which went to voicemail. He stood in his underwear in front of the open window, trying to catch a breeze that didn't exist, and watched sweat drip down his chest.

A knock at the door startled him. He pulled on shorts and opened it to find Gus, holding a fan.

"I heard your AC," Gus said. "Through the wall. It sounds like it's dying. I have an extra fan. You can borrow it."

Daniel stared at him. Gus was wearing basketball shorts and a tank top that was actually sized correctly for his frame, and Daniel could see the definition in his arms—lean muscle, not bulky, but present. He'd shaved, or someone had shaved him, and his hair was still wet from a shower.

"You're a lifesaver," Daniel said, taking the fan. "Mine's completely shot. They're supposed to send someone tomorrow, but tonight is going to be brutal."

"You could..." Gus started, then stopped, his cheeks flushing. "Never mind. It's inappropriate. I'm sorry."

"What?" Daniel asked.

"You could stay at my place," Gus said quickly, the words tumbling out. "I have AC. It works. Obviously, since I didn't break it. Yet. I have a couch. It's not comfortable but it's better than heatstroke. I just thought... you're my only friend here. I don't want you to die of hyperthermia."

Daniel considered. His apartment was already sweltering, the air thick and unmoving. Gus's offer was practical, innocent, the gesture of a lonely man trying to connect. But something in Daniel's chest tightened at the image of spending the night across the hall, in Gus's space, breathing Gus's air.

"Okay," he said. "But only if you let me order us pizza. As a thank you."

Gus's smile was blinding. "I like pizza. I mean, everyone likes pizza, that's not a unique trait, but yes. Please. Pizza."

They ate on Gus's balcony, which was cluttered with astronomy equipment—telescopes and star charts and what looked like a homemade radio receiver. The AC hummed pleasantly inside, and the fan Gus had lent Daniel oscillated in the corner of the living room.

"You're an astronomer too?" Daniel asked, pointing at the telescope.

"Amateur," Gus said, wiping sauce from his chin. "I like looking at things I can't touch. Stars. Galaxies. Theoretical particles. It's easier than looking at things I can touch but shouldn't."

"Like what?"

Gus looked at him, and for a moment, the awkwardness fell away, replaced by something intense and focused. "Like you," he said quietly.

Daniel's breath caught. "Gus—"

"I'm sorry," Gus said immediately, looking down at his pizza. "That was too direct. I know. I'm bad at this. I just... you're very beautiful, Daniel. And kind. And you fixed my electricity. And I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since you almost stepped on my hand in the hallway. Which sounds creepy. I'm creepy. I'm going to stop talking now."

Daniel reached across the small table and touched Gus's wrist, feeling the pulse hammering there. "You're not creepy," he said. "And I haven't stopped thinking about you either."

Gus's head snapped up, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "Really?"

"Really," Daniel said, and he was surprised to find it was true. He'd been thinking about Gus's hands, Gus's voice, the way Gus looked at him like he was trying to memorize every detail. "But I should tell you, I'm not... I'm not looking for anything serious. I just got out of a thing. With Marcus. My ex. It was messy. I'm not ready for—"

"I don't know how to do serious," Gus said, his voice rough. "I don't know how to do casual either. I don't know how to do any of it. I've had sex twice, Daniel. Both times were terrible. Both times were with women in college because I thought I was supposed to want that. I'm... I'm not very experienced. With any of it."

Daniel felt a twist of arousal mixed with tenderness. "We don't have to do anything," he said. "We can just hang out. Be friends."

"I want to," Gus said, and his hand turned over under Daniel's, long fingers intertwining. "I want to try. With you. If you'll be patient with me."

"Of course," Daniel said.

They finished the pizza in charged silence, neither of them pulling their hands away. When the boxes were empty, Gus stood up and cleared his throat. "I should— the couch pulls out. Into a bed. Sort of. It's not great, but—"

"Show me," Daniel said.

Gus's bedroom was a continuation of the living room chaos—clothes piled on a chair, books stacked on the floor, a desk covered in equations that meant nothing to Daniel. But the bed was made, surprisingly, with clean sheets and a comforter that looked expensive.

"I can take the couch," Gus said quickly. "You take the bed. I insist. You're my guest."

"Or," Daniel said, stepping closer, "we could share. It's a queen, right? Plenty of room."

Gus went very still. "You want to sleep with me? In the same bed?"

"I want to be near you," Daniel said, and it was the truth. "We don't have to do anything else. Just... sleep."

"Okay," Gus whispered. "Okay."

They brushed their teeth in the small bathroom, bumping elbows, Gus's hip knocking against the sink. Daniel lent him a t-shirt to sleep in, which hung to mid-thigh on Gus's tall frame. When they climbed into bed, Gus stayed rigid on his side, staring at the ceiling.

"You can relax," Daniel said, turning off the lamp. "I'm not going to bite."

"I might," Gus said, then laughed, a nervous sound. "Sorry. That was— I'm nervous. I'm very nervous. You're very close. You smell good. I'm going to stop talking now."

Daniel reached out in the dark and found Gus's hand, resting on his chest. He laced their fingers together. "Breathe," he said. "Just breathe."

They lay like that for a long time, breathing together, the AC humming, the city lights filtering through the blinds. Daniel was drifting off when he felt Gus shift, rolling onto his side to face him.

"Daniel?" Gus whispered.

"Mm?"

"Can I kiss you?"

Daniel's heart hammered against his ribs. "Yes," he breathed.

Gus's lips found his in the dark, clumsy at first, too much teeth and not enough angle, but then Gus made a small sound in his throat and adjusted, his hand coming up to cradle Daniel's jaw. The kiss deepened, slow and searching, Gus's tongue tentative against Daniel's lips. Daniel opened for him, pulling Gus closer, and felt the moment Gus's nervousness began to burn away.

Because Gus kissed like he did everything else—with intense, focused concentration, like Daniel was a problem he was trying to solve, a theorem he was trying to prove. His hands moved to Daniel's waist, long fingers spanning Daniel's hips, and Daniel felt the first stirrings of Gus's arousal against his thigh.

"Wait," Daniel gasped, breaking the kiss. "Gus, wait."

Gus pulled back immediately, breathing hard. "Too fast? I'm sorry, I—"

"No," Daniel said, reaching down to palm Gus through his borrowed t-shirt. "Not too fast. But I want to see you. All of you. Can I turn on the light?"

Gus hesitated, then nodded. Daniel reached over and clicked on the bedside lamp.

In the warm glow, Gus looked different—flushed, pupils blown wide, his hair mussed from the pillow. The t-shirt had ridden up, revealing long, pale thighs and the unmistakable tent of his erection.

"Take it off," Daniel said, his voice rough. "Please."

Gus sat up and pulled the shirt over his head, and Daniel sucked in a breath. He'd known Gus was tall, but he hadn't realized how much lean muscle hid beneath the oversized clothes. Gus's chest was defined, dusted with dark hair that trailed down to his stomach, his abs visible even in repose. His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, his hips sharp angles that made Daniel's mouth water.

But it was what hung between Gus's thighs that made Daniel's brain short-circuit. Even half-hard, Gus's cock was substantial—thick and heavy, resting against his thigh, the head peeking from the foreskin. As Daniel watched, it twitched, filling rapidly, growing longer and thicker until it stood upright against Gus's stomach, a drop of precome already beading at the slit.

"Jesus," Daniel whispered. "Gus, you're—"

"Too big?" Gus asked, worried, trying to cover himself with his hands. "I know. It's a problem. It doesn't fit well in pants. Or people. The women I was with, they said it hurt. They didn't want to— I'm sorry. I should have warned you."

Daniel pushed Gus's hands away and wrapped his own fingers around Gus's shaft, marveling at the heat of it, the weight. His fingers didn't meet. Gus was easily eight inches, probably closer to nine, and thick enough that Daniel's hand looked small wrapped around him.

"Don't apologize," Daniel said, his voice hoarse. "This is... fuck, Gus, this is beautiful."

"You think so?" Gus asked, his hips jerking involuntarily as Daniel stroked him.

"I know so," Daniel said, and he bent down to lick the drop of precome from Gus's tip.

Gus made a sound like he'd been punched, his whole body going rigid. "Daniel— oh god—"

Daniel took him into his mouth, as much as he could, which was only about halfway given Gus's size. He used his hand on the rest, stroking in time with the bob of his head, and Gus's hands flew to Daniel's hair, not pushing, just holding on, his breath coming in desperate gasps.

"Your mouth," Gus panted. "Your mouth is so warm. I can feel— I can feel your tongue—"

Daniel hummed around him, and Gus bucked, his hips snapping up before he caught himself, apologizing profusely even as he trembled.

"Don't hold back," Daniel said, pulling off to look up at him. "I want you to fuck my mouth, Gus. Can you do that? Can you use me?"

Gus's eyes went dark, something shifting in his expression—a wall coming down, or a door opening. "Yes," he said, his voice deeper than before, steadier. "Yes, I can do that."

He guided Daniel's head back down, his long fingers gentle in Daniel's hair, and began to thrust. Slowly at first, testing his depth, finding the angle that made Daniel moan around him. Then faster, with more confidence, his hips snapping up to meet Daniel's willing mouth.

Daniel had given head plenty of times, but he'd never felt so completely consumed by it. Gus filled him, stretched his jaw, hit the back of his throat with every thrust. Tears pricked at Daniel's eyes from the effort of taking him, but he didn't pull away—he wanted this, wanted Gus's loss of control, wanted to be the one to make this awkward, brilliant man come undone.

"I'm close," Gus warned, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Daniel, I'm going to— you should pull off—"

Daniel shook his head, sucking harder, and Gus came with a shout that Daniel was sure the whole floor could hear. Spurt after spurt flooded Daniel's mouth, more than he'd expected, thick and bitter and copious. He swallowed as much as he could, but some spilled down his chin, dripping onto Gus's thigh.

Gus collapsed back against the pillows, his chest heaving, his cock still twitching against his stomach. Daniel crawled up beside him, wiping his mouth, and Gus turned to look at him with something like awe.

"You swallowed," Gus said, wonderingly. "You let me— I was rough. I didn't hurt you?"

"You were perfect," Daniel said, kissing him, letting Gus taste himself. "And I'm not done with you yet."

"But I just— I'm not— I can't usually—" Gus stammered, then stopped, his eyes widening as Daniel reached down and found him still half-hard. "Oh."

"Refractory period of a teenager," Daniel observed, stroking him. "Or you're just that into this."

"I'm into you," Gus said simply, and rolled them over, pinning Daniel beneath him.

The shift was immediate and shocking. Gus's awkwardness fell away like a shed skin, replaced by a focused intensity that made Daniel's breath catch. Gus's hands were everywhere—pulling off Daniel's shorts, spreading his thighs, mapping the terrain of his body with scientific precision.

"You're beautiful," Gus said, his voice low, almost reverent. "Look at you. Look at how you open for me."

He traced Daniel's hole with one long finger, not entering, just circling, and Daniel gasped, his hips bucking up. "Gus, please—"

"Please what?" Gus asked, and there was a new note in his voice—teasing, commanding. "Tell me what you want, Daniel. Use your words."

"I want you inside me," Daniel begged, the words coming easily, desperately. "I want your cock. I want you to fuck me. Please, Gus, I need it—"

Gus made a sound like a growl and reached for the bedside drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube and a strip of condoms. "I bought these," he said, his hands shaking slightly as he tore open the packet. "After you fixed my electricity. I hoped. I didn't know if— but I hoped."

"Smart man," Daniel breathed, watching Gus roll the condom down his length. He was fully hard again, impossibly thick, and Daniel felt a flutter of nervousness mixed with desperate desire. "Gus, you're really big. I need—you have to prep me."

"I know," Gus said, and there was that focus again, that concentration. "I read about it. I want to make you feel good, Daniel. I want to make you scream."

He poured lube on his fingers and pressed one against Daniel's entrance, sliding in slowly, watching Daniel's face for any sign of discomfort. Daniel moaned, pushing back against the intrusion, and Gus added a second finger, scissoring them, curling them to find Daniel's prostate.

"Fuck!" Daniel cried out when Gus found it, his back arching off the bed.

"There?" Gus asked, doing it again, his eyes locked on Daniel's face.

"Yes, there, right there, don't stop—"

Gus didn't stop. He worked Daniel open with patient, thorough precision, three fingers now, stretching him, preparing him, until Daniel was a writhing mess beneath him, begging incoherently for more, for Gus's cock, for anything to fill the emptiness.

"Ready?" Gus asked, positioning himself, the head of his cock pressing against Daniel's loosened hole.

"Ready," Daniel gasped. "Fuck me, Gus. Please."

Gus pushed in, slow and steady, and Daniel saw stars. He was big, so big, stretching Daniel to the point of burning, filling him deeper than anyone ever had. Gus didn't stop until he was fully seated, his hips flush against Daniel's ass, his breath coming in harsh pants against Daniel's neck.

"Okay?" Gus asked, his voice strained with the effort of holding still.

"More than okay," Daniel managed, his nails digging into Gus's back. "Move, Gus. Please. I need you to move."

Gus pulled back and thrust in, and Daniel cried out, the sound echoing off the walls. Gus set a rhythm—slow, deep strokes that dragged against Daniel's prostate with every thrust, his long body covering Daniel's, his glasses brushing Daniel's cheek as he kissed him messily.

"Good?" Gus asked between thrusts.

"So good," Daniel sobbed. "Harder, Gus. I can take it. I want it harder."

Gus's control snapped. He pulled out and flipped Daniel over, hauling his hips up until Daniel was on his knees, face pressed into the pillows. Then he drove back in, hard and deep, his hips slapping against Daniel's ass with a sound that filled the room.

"Is this what you wanted?" Gus asked, his voice unrecognizable—rough, dominant, nothing like the stammering academic from the hallway. "You wanted me to use this big cock on you? Wanted me to fuck you until you couldn't walk?"

"Yes," Daniel moaned, pushing back to meet each thrust. "Yes, Gus, yes—"

Gus grabbed Daniel's hair and pulled his head back, arching his spine, and the angle change made Daniel see white. "You're so tight," Gus growled. "So hot inside. I can feel you squeezing me. You're going to make me come again, Daniel. You're going to milk my cock until I fill this condom."

Daniel reached beneath himself and grabbed his own cock, stroking frantically in time with Gus's thrusts. He was close, so close, his balls drawing up tight against his body. "Gus, I'm going to—"

"Come for me," Gus commanded, his thrusts becoming wild, uncontrolled. "Come on my cock, Daniel. Show me how good I'm fucking you."

Daniel came with a scream, his orgasm ripping through him, his cock pulsing in his hand as he painted the sheets beneath him. His ass clamped down on Gus's shaft, and Gus groaned, his rhythm faltering, his grip on Daniel's hips tightening enough to bruise.

"Daniel— fuck— I'm coming—"

Gus buried himself to the hilt and shuddered, his cock throbbing as he emptied into the condom, his breath coming in ragged gasps against Daniel's shoulder. For a long moment, they stayed like that—joined, panting, sweat-slicked and trembling—before Gus carefully pulled out and collapsed beside him.

"Holy shit," Daniel whispered, staring at the ceiling. "Gus. Holy shit."

"I know," Gus said, his voice back to its normal register—soft, slightly awed. "I didn't know I could— that I would— I didn't know it could be like that."

"Me neither," Daniel admitted, turning his head to look at him.

Gus's glasses were askew, his hair wild, his face flushed and sweaty and absolutely gorgeous. He reached out and touched Daniel's cheek, his fingers gentle.

"Can you stay?" Gus asked. "Tonight? Tomorrow? I don't want this to end."

Daniel thought of his broken AC, his empty apartment across the hall. Then he thought of Gus's hands, Gus's focus, the way he'd transformed from awkward neighbor to commanding lover.

"Yeah," Daniel said, curling into Gus's side. "I can stay."

Gus smiled, pulling the covers over them both, and Daniel fell asleep to the sound of Gus's heart beating steady and strong against his ear.