Konstantinos is forty-three and has Dimitri living with him. The nineteen year old moved in on Konstantinos after a clandestine fuck in a ruined store. The temperature is rising in modern Thessaloniki, Greece and Dimitri just loves to jerk Konstantinos' chain.
The August heat was punitive, the kind that frayed tempers and softened reason. It wasn’t something you enjoyed, it was something you endured. In the backstreets of old Thessaloniki, where buildings slouched like exhausted drunks and the air carried the sour tang of scorched garlic and stale olive oil, an aging apartment block stood above a row of shuttered shops and graffiti-scrawled kiosks.
From the cool marble halls of the Municipality on Vasileos Georgiou Avenue, officials issued their seasonal bulletins: Drink more water. Stay indoors. Avoid strenuous activity between noon and five. As if anyone in this part of town had that luxury. As if the heat weren’t already inside everything, inside the walls, the mattresses, the lungs.
The advice from the Municipality felt like a joke, broadcast from a different Thessaloniki entirely, one with air conditioning and tinted windows.
The façade of the apartment building was cracked, its balconies cluttered with drying laundry and satellite dishes pointed like broken compass needles to “Go Greek TV”, Satellite services that offer access to Greek channels like “Mega”, “SKAI”, and “ERTWorld”, with their football programming
It wasn’t the kind of area Konstantinos was used to, too loud, too lived-in, too close to the bone. He hated the neighborhood The nights were filled with stray dogs barking and mopeds whining past at 2 a.m. The corner souvlaki joint never closed, and the smell of meat in the atmosphere clung to the drapes.
On the fifth floor, behind a warped wooden door and a flickering hallway light, Konstantinos paced the narrow living room of his new apartment. Forty-three years old, recently divorced, and still carrying the kind of muscle that made younger men glance twice, he looked out of place among the peeling paint and mismatched furniture. The ceiling fan clicked with every rotation, and the floor tiles were chipped and faded. Konstantinos hated that this was the best he could do for himself.
Dimitri now lived in the apartment with Konstantinos Dimitri, with his filthy grin and a body made for sin. In all the heat, Konstantinos was stomping around the flat, naked and half-wild, just like Dimitri, wondering how the hell he’d ended up here.
Konstantinos’s ex-wife had gutted him clean, that’s how he ended up there. Eleni, was from the wrong side of the tracks when he met her. After twenty good years, she took the car, the good linens, the framed wedding photo he hadn’t even wanted. What Eleni left behind was a man with a few essentials: a mattress on the floor, a chipped mug, and the kind of silence that made his ears ring. Konstantinos didn’t even get to see his sons and that hurt.
Dimitri wasn’t the reason for the divorce. Not directly. He came along later, nineteen, unemployed, and built like a street fighter with something to prove. He had a mouth that could start a war and a wiggle that made it hard to look away. Konstantinos knew better, but knowing better had never stopped him before.
In the intense heat, Dimitri stood naked at the kitchen sink, framed by cracked tiles and the low hum of the city outside. In desperation, they’d both thrown their clothes on the floor when they’d arrived from the City; there was no place for clothing when the temperature hit a humid 39c.
His back was arched slightly as he washed dishes by hand. He reached into the soapy water of the stained and cracked sink, muscles shifting beneath olive-toned skin like coiled rope. His body was lean, hard, sun-dried, meant to be handled, not admired.
Konstantinos hated the way he’d let Dimitri move in just a week after they’d met.
It had been a one-night thing or it was supposed to be. Konstantinos fucked Dimitri’s ass in a ruined store off Egnatia, the store was half-collapsed and stinking. Konstantinos had been drunk, lonely, really, and Dimitri had been looking for anyone. For a place to sleep. Konstantinos offered both.
Konstantinos was a tour guide, the kind of guy who could find charm in a broken fountain or poetry in a cracked mosaic. He knew how to spin beauty from ruins but this turd of a life was a story he couldn’t polish.
Dimitri was still there, still sleeping with Konstantinos still asking for things with that soft, needy voice. Konstantinos, for all his expensive education and practiced optimism, couldn’t quite decide whether he felt guilty, used, or just stupid
Despite all of that, Konstantinos couldn’t stop looking at the little fucker and he still wanted to stick his cock up that fine ass. The heat of the City, frustration and wanting to fuck was driving Konstantinos insane.
Dimitri’s dirty blond hair clung damply to his neck, tousled and careless, and his eyes, icy blue, almost cruel, flicked up from the dishes with a look that could melt you or pin you in place. He didn’t smile. He didn’t need to. The way he stood there, naked and unbothered, made the whole flat feel like it belonged to him.
He moved through the rooms with the slow, deliberate grace of someone who knew he was wanted. Every gesture was a tease: the way his hips shifted as he reached for another plate, the flex of his thighs, the casual exposure of everything. He was seductive without effort, and he knew it.
Their tenuous relationship hung by a thread, lust knotted with resentment, desire sharpened by the thrill of provocation. It wasn’t love, not in the soft sense. It was something harder, more combustible, almost incandescent. Dimitri knew exactly how to get under Konstantinos’ skin, and he did it with a smirk using his naked body, flaunting his sexual bravado like a challenge.
Konstantinos fucked Dimitri like he had something to prove, like every thrust was a declaration, a challenge, a refusal to be forgotten. He was older now, thick around the middle and the kind of masculinity that didn’t yield easily. When Dimitri offered himself, young, lean, hungry, Konstantinos took the bait without hesitation. Every time.
He hated being divorced. Hated the quiet humiliation of lost affluence, the way Eleni had everything that was once his. So, now, he carved out triumphs where he could. In the dark, in the heat of the shitty apartment, in the way he made Dimitri grunt when he was fucked. Each time they fucked, it was more than sex, it was Konstantinos making Dimitri feel it. His power. His relevance. His right to be wanted.
Dimitri was maddening. That lean, muscular frame, always moving, always demanding attention, was like trying to tame fire with bare hands. He had the energy of a man raised on late-night bouzouki and cheap contraband cigarettes brought from Turkey through the Kipoi border post. Dimitri was the kind of young guy who’d argue politics in a kafeneio one minute and strip down and get fucked by a stranger without blinking the next. No shame, no filter, no patience. He was Thessaloniki through and through: raw, loud, unapologetic.
Konstantinos hated how much he wanted him. Dimitri was sexual chaos wrapped in immaculate olive skin and streetwise charm, and every time he walked through the flat, naked, cocky, dripping with sweat, Konstantinos felt something ancient stir in him. Rage. Hunger. A need to dominate, to claim, to remind them both who was the boss.
Dimitri never played submissive. He played Greek, proud, defiant, and always ready to fight for the last word or the last thrust.
Dimitri leaned against the doorframe, naked, sweat glistening along his collarbone. The heat pressed in through the open window, thick with the smell of car exhaust and grilled meat. He watched Konstantinos on the threadbare sofa as he fumbled with the remote, the TV flickering between soccer and static and some more old soccer. Dimitri was angling for a fight again.
“You must’ve been wild back at the Millenium,” Dimitri said, voice low, almost amused. “I bet you were a heartbreaker before the euro.” It was unnecessary, uncalled for and just so Dimitri,
Konstantinos froze. His jaw tightened, thumb hovering over the remote. The comment landed like a slap, casual, cutting, perfectly timed. He didn’t move.
Dimitri stepped more definitely into the room, slow and deliberate, his bare feet silent on the cracked tiles. “What?” he added, grinning. “You don’t like being reminded you’re vintage?” He smiled, “You’re lucky I stay here with you. You’re a sad fuck!”
Konstantinos turned, eyes dark, mouth set in a line that didn’t quite hide the sting. “You think you’re clever, you little fucker!” he said. “You’re one step removed from being a street whore
“I know I am,” Dimitri replied, triumphant. He crossed the room and plucked the remote from Konstantinos’ hand, brushing against his arm as he did. “Besides, you’re still a heartbreaker. It just takes longer to get it up in the first place and then recover, doesn’t it?”
Konstantinos didn’t answer. He just sat there, heat rising in his chest, watching Dimitri walk away, cocky, naked, and utterly in control.
The tension between them was constant, electric. A look, a word, a shift in posture could set it off. They fought like lovers and fucked like enemies, each encounter a collision of ego and need. It wasn’t romance. It was combustion.
A naked Dimitri turned to face an equally naked Konstantinos, his erection bobbing slightly as he spoke, "You know, for an older guy who's supposed to be so sexually experienced, you can't even get it up for more than two minutes. Maybe it's time you admitted you're as impotent as you are useless. No wonder that fucking wife of yours dumped you!"
Dimitri walked over to the sink and started washing dishes once more.
Konstantinos's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching tightly. The accusation stung more than it should have. He wasn't impotent; he was just tired of Dimitri's incessant demands for attention. He wasn't about to let the little shit get away with that kind of talk.
With swiftness, Konstantinos strode over to the sink and stood behind Dimitri, roughly pinning Dimitri against the porcelain.
Konstantinos's cock was hard and heavy as he reached for the bar of soap on the worksurface. Without a word, he slicked it up in the water and pressed it against Dimitri’s tight entrance, rubbing it harshly into the hole. The younger man's eyes went wide, a mix of fear and arousal. Dimitri knew what was coming.
Dimitri's protests were muffled as Konstantinos pushed him against the sink, the cold porcelain pressing into his balls. Konstantinos ignored the whimpers and the frantic squirming, his own rage driving him. He positioned his veiny, throbbing cock and in one swift motion, he buried himself inside Dimitri’s soapy hole. The younger man gasped, and grunted, his body tensing as Konstantinos plunged into Dimitri’s guts.
Konstantinos grinned and started to pound into Dimitri, hard and fast like a vengeful beast. The room was filled with the slap of flesh on flesh and the guttural grunts of Konstantinos' exertion.
Dimitri’'s eyes watered, but his body betrayed him. He was already leaking pre-cum, his arousal mixing with the soap and water that was now coating the kitchen floor. He tried to push back, to match Marcus's rhythm, but the older man was relentless, his strength overpowering. Dimitri remained pinned against the sink, unable to move.
Konstantinos was angry, towering anger that wouldn’t relax until he’d cum in the little fuck!
In just a matter of moments, Konstantinos reached his climax. He grunted, his cock pulsing as he squirted himself into Dimitri's ass. The younger man's legs trembled, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the sink for support.
Konstantinos pulled out abruptly, roughly, leaving Dimitri panting and dripping cum from his ass. Without a backward glance, he walked away, leaving Dimitri to clean up the mess.
Dimitri slumped against the sink, his breaths rough and labored. The sting of the soap and the roughness of Konstantinos lingered, but so did a strange sense of satisfaction. Dimitri had pushed Konstantinos to his limit, and the raw outburst of sexual power displayed was something Dimitri hadn't expected.
Dimitri watched as Konstantinos grabbed his shirt from the floor and wiped his cock clean, tossing the stained shirt to the floor with a disdainful look.
The silence in the apartment was thick, the only sound was the slow dribble of the faucet and the occasional car horn from the street below. Dimitri felt a mix of emotions, anger, lust, and a strange thrill at being taken so aggressively. He reached back and touched his still-throbbing ass, the soap left a trail down his thigh.
Konstantinos grabbed a beer from the fridge. He didn't bother to hide his cock, his muscular chest heaving as he took a long pull from the bottle.
Dimitri couldn't help but feel a twinge of desire, despite the pain and the insults that had just been exchanged. He knew that underneath the anger and the bravado, Konstantinos, the bigger older man, had a soft spot for him, even if he never showed it.
Dimitri turned the water off and faced Konstantinos, his own cock still rock-hard and begging for attention. "You're not going to at least help me clean up?" he asked, his voice a softer mix of sass and submission. Konstantinos took another swig of his beer and leaned against the fridge, eyeing Dimitri up and down.
"You wanted to play games?" Konstantinos sneered, gesturing to the mess on the floor. "Now you clean yourself up, you dumb fuck!"
Dimitri rolled his eyes and smiled a little but knew better than to argue. He grabbed his shirt from the floor. The one that Konstantinos had used earlier and began to wipe himself, feeling the stickiness of the soap and cum on his skin. Konstantinos watched the provocative fucker, watched him wipe himself with the shirt. Konstantinos wanted more.
Dimitri couldn't help but feel a smug sense of victory. He’d gotten under Konstantinos's skin, made him lose control, made him fuck like a stranger and that was worth the discomfort.
Their eyes met, and for a brief second, there was a flicker of something softer in Konstantinos's gaze but it was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by a steely resolve. Dimitri knew that this wasn't the end of their argument, but he also knew that it wasn't the end of their volatile dance. Dimitri smiled.
As he finished wiping himself, Dimitri's mind raced with thoughts of what would come next. Would Konstantinos apologize? Perhaps, they would both find themselves on that mattress on the floor in the August heat, tangled in a mess of passion and spite once again. Either way, Dimitri knew that living with Konstantinos was never going to be dull.
