Chapter Text
He waits in the shadows, as he always does. Standing, hidden, right at the spot where the cameras would never see, never reached. Still, he kept his head bowed, his face hidden, his hair covered.
The sleeves of his hoodie wrapped tight around his arms, his gloved hands clammy from where they rest in the front pocket, clenched into balls, waiting.
The only consolation he has is the closeness of his van. He’d made sure to caress a photo for good luck, then stepped out about an hour before.
The vehicle he’s standing next to has sleek, opaque, black tinted windows. A Lincoln Continental Coach Door—limited edition. It’s a beautiful piece, as expected from his elegant love—always getting his hands on the most luxurious pieces available, as he should. A man with such luxury, such opulence being subjected to something crass? Unacceptable.
It’s new, he notes, a new year, perhaps—? He’ll certainly have to check its inner compartments later on, note down anything worthy, so far, however, it looks nearly identical to the edition that was released last year.
Either way, he’ll set time aside to study it, for sure.
He glimpses at his reflection, the blue of his eyes staring back at him on the black window, face doused in darkness, his shoulders look huge with the way his clothing seems keen on mapping his very skin. It’s a nice look, he thinks—his love would definitely appreciate it.
Speaking of, quiet tip-tap of heels echo, inching forward from the middle of the parking lot. Footsteps light and hurried as they pace toward the car.
Keeping himself flat against the wall, he waits; the vehicle’s locks snap open with a muted thud, car lights flicking on. The footsteps turn closer, their quickened pace slowing to a bit more of a crawl.
“Mmf—!”
“Hello, Bruce,” his love in his arms is a euphoric sensation. It’s been so long since he’d last held his heart, pinned to his chest, warm breath fanning over his palm where it rests covering a mouth and nose. “Did you miss me?” He asks, leaning down, burying his nose into the crook of the other’s neck and breathing in deep—soft notes of vanilla, a bit of coconut; none of that musky, disgusting cologne he likes to put on during galas, no. This is his scent, a scent he’s been longing to inhale for a few weeks now.
“I miss you.” He trails his nose up, nuzzling at the underside of a jaw, “So much, sweetheart.”
The other man writhes in his hold, body twisting, throat working with muffled noises. Tutting, he speaks directly into a cheek, “Shhh, you don’t want me to bring out the chloroform again, do you?”
The other man stops, heart stuttering, its rippling beats felt even through the layers of clothes separating them. “Then again, maybe I should. Oh, you look so beautiful asleep, sweetheart. Pliant, and small, relaxed, just for me.”
Cautiously, he removes his hand from the mouth and nose breathing heavily against his palm, his fingertips tracing an elegantly shaped jawline, supple milky skin turning pink from his earlier grip. He coos, in a wordless apology.
“P-please,” the man stutters, Adam’s apple bobbing with a swallow, eyes blinking rapidly; even through the dim lighting, he can see the sheen of tears on them. “Don’t do this. N-not again.”
He shushes him again, laying his free hand over a throat instead, using his thumb to caress the spot just where a pulse throbs. “I know you missed me too.” He grinds his hips forward, the man pinned to his chest flinches, breath hitching with a choked whimper. His cock has been a half-hard chub since he got out of his van—body thrumming with anticipation and excitement at seeing his beloved again after so long.
His stupid job had held him back for a near three weeks, leaving him barely any time to visit his lovely little pearl. But now, they’re here, back and full once again. He slots himself between the groove of two full ass cheeks. He can already feel it, that tight vice grip around his cock, fluttering walls, a sheath of warmth only he is privy to.
“Are you shaking, baby?” He asks, rhetorical, he can feel him trembling in his hold, the way his throat keeps working with nervous swallows. “You don’t have to be so afraid, I know you love this.”
“N-no, I don’t.”
Gritting his teeth, a snarling ugly worm burrows in his chest as he grabs the other man firmly by his throat, digging his fingers in harshly. “Yes, you fucking do.” He growls, “Don’t lie to me—!”
His beloved whimpers, eyes snapped shut as tears roll down his flushed cheeks, lips pursed tightly. “I—‘M sorry—” His beloved whimpers again when the hand around his throat digs even harder, mouth parting with a gasp. Hands grab on to the arm hugging around his mid-section, pinning him to a solid chest, thin fabric sleeve twisting in his hands’ shaky grip.
He coos, unable to help it. His love is adorable when he gets all scared, acting as if he doesn’t want to be fucked, as if he doesn’t love him back. All a ploy of hard to get, really.
The first few times, he still recalls vividly, the way hands would slap, delicate fists balled, trying to fight back, legs kicking and mouth viciously trying to call for help. It was cute with how hard his love had tried valiantly to stop it from happening. Eventually though, he finally admitted to himself how much of a slut he is, how much he loved his cock.
In the end, it all stopped, and now, here they are.
“I’m not in the mood for your games, Bruce.” He loosens his grip just a bit, sighing, “I really did miss you. Are you angry, is that why you’re acting up? I’m sorry, baby, work just had me all tied up. That’s all.” He goes back to caressing the thrumming pulse beneath precious skin with his thumb.
He gets a whine in response, he lets out an apologetic hum, leaning in closer once again and licking up a stripe from jaw to cheek. He tastes delicious; salty with a bit of the day’s sweat, a lingering chemical tang of his favourite coconut-scented soap with that moisturizer he loves to put on.
“W-will you tell me what y-you do?”
Humming again, he nibbles down on the plushness of the other’s cheek, sucking it into his mouth and biting down, just enough that when he pulls back, a round of pink blooms on pale skin. “I’m hurt, sweetie, you see me a lot. But I’ll show you soon, I promise.”
“I-I don’t even know your n-name.”
He grinds forward again, clicking his tongue when the stretch of the other’s slacks prevents him from further burrowing between those fat ass cheeks, “I already told you.” He moves to trace an ear, “So many times, baby.”
Breath hitching, he wriggles in his hold once again, and he hardens his arm, pushing down against the other’s stomach and lifting him higher, forcing the other man to tilt his stance to the balls of his feet.
Like this, he can line them up a bit better, rut himself right against the other’s ass, the friction and dryness of fabric a coarse sensation against his hard cock. He can feel the way he’s straining in the back of his pants’ zipper, throbbing with want and lust, spine chilled with exhilaration.
Letting go of the other’s throat, he moves his hand downward, down to fiddle with the covered zipper of his slacks.
Head bowing low, he’s dislodged from where he was dipping the tip of his tongue inside an ear, following the cartilage-lines, the softness of lobe. “Nervous?” He chuckles as he picks up the pull, slowly but surely drawing the slider down tiny metal teeth, all the way to the end.
It’s a bit hard to see as he looks over a shoulder, but he can see the outline of an adorable cock cradled in boxer briefs. Next he unbuttons the slacks, the moment it opens, they fall into a puddle of cloth around weak ankles.
With his prize so close, he doesn’t hesitate anymore, he pulls the underwear down and lets it pool to the floor too. “You’re so cute,” he breathes out as he cups a flaccid dick, looking tiny in the massive expanse of his hand, balls hanging and cockhead covered in extra skin. He’s always a bit amazed at the fact that he never got circumcised, regardless, whether or not his beloved is cut, the length in his hold remains small—useless yet precious all the same.
Shivering, pushing back into his chest, he squeezes the man against him, “It’s okay, we’ll warm up real soon.”
Presenting his palm, he instructs the other to spit. He’s given a bewildered look over the shoulder, wide, doe blue eyes looking at him, with eyelashes fluttering. He raises an eyebrow as he waits, before his gorgeous love turns back to face forward, staring down at the palm he’s presented with.
Eyes shut, he spits down unto the palm with a grimace, jaw clenching when he feels a slimy hand slot into the cleft of his ass. Sucking in a harsh, audible breath when he feels a thick finger circling his rim. “Please,” he mumbles, keeping his hands still clutched at the arm around his stomach, “Just—just get it over with.”
A cold laugh, warm breath on his nape, rough, cracked lips pressing down on the back of his neck. “Excited? You really missed me, didn’t you?”
The immediate response of a firm “no” sits tickling the edge of his tongue that he has to bite down. The last thing he needs is for this to all prolong even further.
The tip of his finger slips in with the aid of drying spit, it’s a bit dry as he slips further in but god the warmth, the clench—it’s a need that he’s missed for so long and feeling it again after several days—is heavenly.
Tilting his hand, wrist side up, he uses the remaining spit on his palm to aid him even more, groaning when he manages to slip his first knuckle in. After that, it’s all a haze of perfunctory motions, really. Stretching his pliant, nervous sweetheart with two fingers.
When he nudges the head of his spongy tip, he uses the precum leaking out of his slit to line along a fluttering hole, before stopping. He lets go of his hold in favour of pushing the other man up against his own car, a firm hand sitting on the center of a clothed back as he uses his other hand to grab at a cheek—shaking it and digging his fingers into the plushy fat with aggression, hard enough that he knows it’ll leave marks after he leaves. A trace of his presence.
Pushing in, he muffles his moan by closing his mouth down on a flushed nape, salty with sweat and ticklish with peachfuzz, and thrusts in in one go. The man in front of him grunts, a strangled whimper escaping him.
He sets his pace, dragging his cock out before roughly pushing back in, letting his pelvis slap sloppily loud on a trembling ass. His lover is quiet for the most part, breathing through gritted teeth, forehead pressing into the roof of the vehicle as it shakes with his movements. A foggy spot forming where his mouth is, arms barely covering his head.
“Don’t be shy, cry for me,” he grunts as he shifts, hits his baby’s prostate dead on, and relishes at the whimpered moan it produces. He makes sure to keep hitting his sweetheart’s favourite spot, panting against his face, mouthing at a reddened ear. “God, your cunt loves my cock, huh—” moaning, he holds the other man by his hips and lifts him up to his tip-toes, pressing him firmly against the car and pressing himself against his back, “No one else gets this, you hear me?”
Using the grip he has on the other’s hips, he maneuvers his body like a fleshlight, pulling the other back whenever he pulls out and meets them in the middle when he thrusts back in. “I’ll kill any one who gets to see you like this. No one but me—Say it—!”
“N-no one b-but you—” He pauses to pant, a hiccupped sob wracking his throughout his entire body, “J-just you—”
“That’s right, Bruce, that’s right—” When he cums, he buries himself to the hilt, burying his face into the crook of the other’s neck, biting down on a quivering shoulder, even through the thick fabric of a suit coat and dress shirt. He’d have done it on his nape but he can do it tomorrow, when he knows they’ll inevitably meet again, when his beautiful beloved comes back to him.
When he pulls out, a few drops of his cum follows, plopping right onto the underwear still pooled on the floor. He gathers as much of his cum as he can trailing down quaking thighs and pushes it back in, slapping a cheek after he’s done. “Make sure you keep it in, I’ll be back tomorrow.”
He zips himself up and ducks into the shadows, crawls under his parked van and watches the Lincoln sway with movement. He can see those black, polished dress shoes move, shuffling along as hands pick up and gather both underwear and slacks, pulling them up and hiding previously exposed legs from view.
A car door clicks open before it slams shut with a loud thud.
10 minutes later, the engine purrs on, and the vehicle backs out.
He crawls out from beneath his van and gets in too, there, on the dashboard sits a photo of his pretty little baby, looking directly at the camera whether he knew or not, eyes looking up from beneath his lashes, dark strands of hair falling in gentle waves over, nearly covering an eye, pink lips glossed and a clean-shaven jaw.
“You’ll see me again, Bruce.” He drives back to his apartment. He has another gala to attend by week’s end, after all.