Chapter 2: Gece Vardiyasının Bedeli
The spectral blue light from the dental unit’s computer monitor was the only illumination in the clinic, casting long, cold shadows that made the sterile instruments look like relics in a tomb. Berkay stood rigidly by the supply cabinet, his back to Semih, pretending to check an inventory log he couldn’t read. The memory of that drunken kiss in Semih’s apartment four nights ago hung between them like a physical entity, a third person in the room that neither dared to address.
“You didn’t have to stay this late,” Semih’s voice cut the silence from across the room, closer than Berkay had anticipated. He was leaning against the doorframe to the operatory, a dark, solid shape. “The Keskin case files are done. I checked.”
Berkay shut the cabinet with a deliberate click. “I know. I just… wanted to make sure everything was reset for Monday.” The excuse was thin, transparent.
Boots on linoleum. Semih moved into the room, his presence shrinking the space. Berkay could smell him now—not just soap, but the faint, clean sweat of a long day. “Look at me,” Semih said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
When Berkay turned, Semih was right there. The raw hunger in his eyes was nothing like the soft, drunken haze of the other night. It was focused, deliberate. “You’ve been running from me since that night,” he stated, his voice low. “I wasn’t that drunk.”
“I wasn’t that drunk.”
Aniden gelen bu son itirafın üstüne Berkay bir an dona kalır. Semih kendisinden bir karış mesafede durmaktadır. Aklı karışır, boğazı düğümlenir.
Semih’in nefesini yüzünde, tenine sinmiş parfümünü bu kadar yakından burnunda hissederken bir anlığına konuşamaz ve sadece yutkunur. Semih bunun bir anlamı olmadığını, aslında çok uzun süredir bildiğini ve sadece denemek istediğini söyler.
Ağır ağır Berkay’la arasındaki mesafeyi kapatır. Ve Berkay’ı öper.
Berkay öpücüğe karşılık verir. Öpüşme boyunca Semih’in dudaklarını, tadını, nasıl hissettirdiğini hafızasına kazır. Semih bir an geri çekilir. Berkay’la bakışırlar.
Bu sefer Berkay öne eğildi, dudaklarını Semih’in üstüne kapatarak cevabını verdi. Bu öpüşme açlıktan titriyordu, yılların bastırılmış isteğiyle delip geçiyordu. Semih’in elleri Berkay’ın yüzüne, ensesine, saçlarına girdi, onu kendine çekerek sertleşti.
“Şu lanet önlüğü çıkar,” diye homurdandı Semih, ağzı Berkay’ın boynunda. Parmakları düğmeleri zorlayarak açtı, kumaş yere düştü.
Berkay’s own fingers fumbled with the buttons of Semih’s clinical shirt, pushing it from his shoulders. He grabbed the hem of his own polo and tore it over his head in one frantic motion, letting it join the discarded smock on the floor. They stood there, chests heaving, skin illuminated by the cold monitor light.
Semih stepped forward again, his hands reaching, but Berkay planted a palm firmly on his solid chest. “Wait,” Berkay breathed, his voice trembling. He needed a moment just to look, to sear this image into a memory that had only ever been fantasy.
His gaze traveled from Semih’s lips, still slick from their kiss, down the strong column of his throat where his beard ended. It dipped to his chest, where newly trimmed hairs were growing back dark against his wheat-colored skin. His chest was broad, almost too full, his arms thick with the muscle of someone who worked with his hands. Berkay’s eyes slid lower, over the soft swell of Semih’s belly, the only part of him that yielded, and followed the dark trail of hair that pointed like an arrowhead down into his trousers. He absolutely wanted to follow that path.
When Berkay finally looked up, Semih was smiling, a knowing, lazy curl of his lips. He’d enjoyed the examination. Semih’s hand slid around Berkay’s neck, fingers tangling in his hair, and pulled him forward into another deep, claiming kiss. After a few seconds, Semih pulled harder, guiding him, and Berkay understood, shifting to straddle Semih’s lap where he’d sunk onto the edge of the old desk.
He didn’t know how long they kissed, but soon there was nowhere left untouched on Semih’s torso by Berkay’s curious, desperate hands. He traced the lines of muscle, scraped his nails over a nipple, palmed the solid heat of him while Semih’s hands remained anchored—one on Berkay’s neck, the other a heavy, possessive weight on his thigh. “Fuck, your hands,” Semih groaned against his mouth, his hips rolling up, the hard ridge of his cock pressing against Berkay’s through the layers of fabric.
“Fuck, your hands,” Semih groaned against his mouth, his hips rolling up, the hard ridge of his cock pressing against Berkay’s through the layers of fabric.
Berkay gasped, breaking the kiss. “You have no idea,” he whispered, his breath ragged. “How long I’ve imagined this.”
For another moment, they kept kissing, their eyes open now, mouths locked in a wet, shared breath, and in that suspended second, they both knew it was time. Berkay slid off his lap and stood on shaky legs.
He reached for the button of Semih’s clinical trousers, his fingers fumbling before finally undoing it. He pulled the zipper down slowly, the sound loud in the quiet room. He tugged the pants down Semih’s thick, powerful thighs, revealing him clad only in black boxer briefs, stretched taut over his straining erection.
A dark patch of pre-cum soaked the thin cotton, the swollen head of his cock visibly tenting the fabric. His white socks were still on. Berkay sank to his knees on the cool linoleum.
He took Semih’s right foot, placed it flat against his own chest, and carefully peeled the sock off. He brought the warm cotton to his nose and inhaled deeply. The scent was clean, musky, an intimate mix of Semih’s skin and laundry detergent that flooded Berkay’s lungs.
He repeated the ritual with the other foot, leaving Semih’s bare feet resting on his chest for a lingering moment. Then, starting at the ankle, he began to kiss and lick his way up the inside of Semih’s calf.
He tasted salt and skin, his tongue tracing the line of tense muscle. He mouthed at the sensitive spot behind Semih’s knee, earning a sharp intake of breath above him. He worked his way steadily higher, along the coarse hair of his thigh, until his face was level with the damp black fabric of the boxers.
He nuzzled the solid heat beneath, planting soft kisses over the wet patch. He licked at the fabric, tasting the faint salt through the cotton. Then, with both hands, he hooked his fingers into the waistband and pulled them down.
Semih’s cock sprang free, slapping hard against his stomach. It was thick, veined, and glistening at the tip. Berkay stared, his mouth watering.
Berkay stared, his mouth watering. A deep, calm certainty settled in his gut: he was going to make Semih come, he would wring every drop from him, he would finally have him. The urge to simply sink onto that thick cock was a physical ache, but he forced himself to wait.
Semih leaned back, placing his hands behind his head against the cool surface of the desk, and just watched. His smirk was a dare, a silent provocation. Berkay drank in the sight—the dense, dark hair of his armpits, the heave of his muscular chest, the possessive gaze locked on him, and that perfect, flushed dick standing rigid between them.
He reached out, his fingers finally closing around Semih’s shaft, and Semih gasped at the contact. Berkay brought his fist to his nose and inhaled deeply, the musky, clean scent of him hitting his brain like a drug. It was intensely masculine, and it made his own cock twitch painfully in his jeans. Still, he didn’t lick.
He lowered his head, nuzzling into the coarse black hair at the base. The short hairs prickled against his lips and cheek. He licked a broad stripe through the thatch, then vacuumed his lips against the skin, sucking a dark mark into Semih’s pubes. Semih moaned, a rough sound that vibrated in the quiet room.
Berkay sank lower, his nose brushing against Semih’s heavy balls. They were clean, smelling only of soap and that essential, dark scent of him. He licked one slowly, savoring the weight of it on his tongue, then cupped it gently in his hand before repeating with the other. “Fuck, Berkay,” Semih whispered, his hips giving a slight, involuntary jerk.
Finally, Berkay brought his face level with the glistening head. A bead of pre-cum welled from the slit. He leaned in and licked it off, a sharp, salty taste, and watched, transfixed, as a string of it stretched from his bottom lip back to the tip. He kissed the swollen head then, a soft press of lips, before flicking his tongue slowly, deliberately, just around the sensitive crown.