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Driver isn’t vocal at all.
He prefers to thank people with a nod or an incredibly vague suggestion of a smile, ducking his head before they can try to start a conversation with him. He doesn’t sing along to the radio—he barely ever even plays it—and when he has to speak, it’s a tone just barely above a whisper. He has more of an inner monologue than anything.
Right now, he’s nose deep in his own jacket, pathetically rolling his weeping cock against a limp pillow. Louder than he’s ever been. A sheen of sweat covers his tensed back and forehead, dripping down to gather at the small of his back, his temples, gathering on his thighs. His mouth falls open in a strangled gasp as the cover bunches up and slides against the underside of his dick, absorbing the moisture, growing dark with the dampness of it.
“Please,” he whines dumbly to no one in particular. A sharp white canine sinks deep into his lower lip until it almost breaks the skin there. “Please, please. ‘m sorry. Can’t.”
He’s trying to be quiet so that he can spare both himself and the neighbors the embarrassment of hearing him beg like a whiny mutt while thinking of a man that doesn’t even love him. Grace, sweet, funny, accidentally and unbearably charming Ryland Grace, is all that passes through his delirious mind as he rolls his lithe hips down against the bed over and over.
Fantasies flash through his head like single panels on a reel of film. Tears roll down his face as he shuffles against the bed uncomfortably, struggling for air. He grits his teeth.
“You know better than that,” Grace tuts in that low teacher voice of his, fingers carding through the messy strands of blonde hair that fall to frame Driver’s face. He tugs his head back until the delicate curve of his throat is exposed, the beating line of his pulse thrumming in his own ears. Now he’s looking up at Grace who’s looking down at him disapprovingly through his glasses as if he’s nothing more than a dirty, misbehaving little thing.
Then he would nudge his nice business shoes right up against Driver’s trapped cock, the arrogant side of him delighting in the way Driver tries to lurch forward, press his pretty face up against Grace’s thigh, grind down against the fine leather.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Dr. Grace,” he’d plead helplessly, chest rising and falling with every breath, doing nothing to stop the room from spinning. Grace’s ego would swell with pride, and he’d relent, letting Driver cum in his own pants.
A choked moan slips from Driver’s throat at the vision. He noses into his jacket again, the large white panel on the back, because Grace had put his arm around Driver’s shoulders today. “Fu–uck…”
His back arches, the pale crescent of his ass haloed by moonlight. Something tightens and twists low in his gut as he tenses up, legs locking around the pillow, but he can’t seem to cum for whatever reason. More frustrated tears escape from his eyes. What’s wrong with him? Grace would hate him if he ever found out what kind of depravity he got up to in his spare time. Sure, it’s more than likely Grace masturbates, but he probably does it in a normal way for an adult man, one that doesn’t involve so much crying and bed humping, maybe. How would Grace touch himself? Driver’s ears burn hotter at the thought.
“Casey,” Grace says, raising a single finger towards Driver and crooking it in a ‘come here’ gesture. His other hand languidly strokes his cock—he’s in no rush to get anything done, unlike Driver, who’s so obsessed with the idea of putting that cock in his mouth that it hurts. Heat rolls over Driver’s body in thick, suffocating waves. He can hardly see straight as he begins to crawl forward, up to the edge of the bed, the sheets thrown haphazardly down to the floor, where Driver has been resisting the urge to crawl in and sniff them for almost an hour now.
Driver, entire body shaking with the force of the sheer will it takes not to pounce on Grace right there, whines.
Now, for Grace, that just won’t do. He raises an unamused eyebrow. “Use your words.” The command is stern, unmoving. Driver can’t form words; his lips move uselessly, pouting. The only thing he can think about is wrapping his lips around the pink head of Grace’s dick, getting it inside of him, rubbing it against his ass while Grace curses his name and lets out those pleased little huffs he works so hard to draw out of him.
“Please,” Driver mewls in that barely-there, soft voice of his. He slots himself between the large muscles of Grace’s thighs. He needs nothing more to sink his teeth into that meaty flesh, feel the skin break under him, lap the iron wine and indulge in the fruits of his labour. His dick twitches needily; Grace ignores it, of course, because Grace does what he wants and Driver does what Grace wants. “I want to be good for you.”
“Tell me what you need.”
“I need your cock, anywhere you want to put it, tell me, just tell me what you want me to do. I’m yours.”
Driver continues to grind his hips against the pillow beneath him, spitting on his hand and working furiously at his growing arousal. No matter how slow or quickly he goes, he can’t seem to draw that urgent orgasm out of his body, desperation growing. His tip dribbles slightly in time with the saliva dripping out of the corners of his mouth as he lets out open-mouthed, throaty groans and high whimpers.
“I’m your boy, Grace, tell me I’m your boy,” Driver pleads incoherently, barely able to see through the haze of arousal and tears clouding his vision. His head feels heavy and hot as he lays it down against the mattress, knees shuffling against the bed while it rocks back and forth. More pre-cum drips from him and into the leather covering his palm, doing very little to lessen the rough friction against his dick. Does he look pretty when he cries? He wants to find out. He wants to know if Grace would fuck him like this, if he would fuck him at all, bend him over easily with a hand to the back of his neck and drive his cock deep into him until he couldn’t think straight.
“You’re lucky I’m a teacher,” Grace says playfully, watching Driver squirm around his cock. “Cause you get so stupid when I fuck you.”
Driver at least has half a mind to try and hide his burning face, not that it does much for his decency, considering his own dick is leaking against his stomach, entirely untouched. He tosses a forearm over his eyes and tries to breathe slowly. Grace spreads his thighs, his thumb caressing the bone of his hip, admiring how it yields so easily, bruises even easier. How compliant the man before him is.
“C’mon, Casey, don’t be like that. Let me see you.”
Driver lets his arms fall off to the side. When he opens his eyes, wide and blue and filled with tears, Grace is smiling down at him, almost pitifully. Then he starts thrusting and all he can see is stars, blazing even brighter than the ones Grace will eventually meet in person. For now, it’s just them, animals rutting in the dark of Driver’s 1 bedroom apartment.
“Harder, harder,” Driver chants like a mantra, face turned off to the side in a measly attempt to burrow into the pillow lovingly tucked under his head just a few moments earlier.
“So bossy,” Grace tuts. “So loud.”
He wraps his tie into a ball, forcing Driver’s jaw open, taking a moment to appreciate the sharpness of his teeth before shoving the cloth in. He drools dumbly around it, biting and tightening around Grace’s cock as he rolls his hips down against him. Driver’s lean fingers curl into the sheets, hands scrambling for purchase on anything he can get his hands on. The first time Grace had seen him, he had commented on how slender they were, how he might’ve been a piano player in another life. Driver had nearly passed out when he put their palms together and almost let them interlock.
The apartment is filled with the sound of Driver practically sobbing at this point, needy for any sort of release, fingers tightening in a ring around the base of his cock. I can’t, I can’t, why can’t I just be fucking normal? He strips off his gloves and shoves them into his mouth, gagging at the salty taste of himself, shame flooding him right as the last remnants of dignity seep out. He huffs around the thick material and touches a hand to himself again, shivering at the contact, the tenderness of his own hands like throwing a pot of boiling water into a snowstorm. He grinds against his palm for a moment longer before turning over, sweat cooling against his face, shining in the shitty light of his apartment.
“Grace, need you, need you… want you to love me…” Driver mumbles, looking down at the red curve of his abused cock. He wants to kiss Ryland the same way he drives; hard, fast, unforgiving, to crash their lips together, to have their tongues rubbing against each other the way rubber burns over asphalt. He wants to press his nose to the nape of Grace’s neck and smell his cologne, probably something cheap, his aftershave, his body wash, clean, masculine, safe. Driver just wants to be safe in those arms.
Slowly, almost cautiously, he begins to stroke himself again, heartbeat pounding in his ears as he pictures Grace leaning over him, those strong arms holding him down, watching him struggle.
“You can take it, I’ll help you.”
Driver nods. He’s helpless to do anything else. “I will, I can take it.”
His hips rock up into his own fist before he can stop himself. The ceiling tilts away from him as he loses himself in the throes of pleasure, imagining Grace’s stubble scraping against his skin, making him erupt into a shiver, kissing the inside of his thigh, the line of his navel, right on his scar and rubbing it and calling him tough and telling him how good he is—
Finally, like the sun breaking over the horizon, white streaks paint his stomach. The orgasm crashes over him violently, body wracking with sobs, arching before curling back in to try and escape the sensation, chasing it at the same time. He fucks his hand through it, a high whine dragging through his teeth without his permission, now completely inconsiderate of the paper thin walls that hardly conceal his night time activities. The spurts slowly ease up until they’re nothing but drops running down Driver’s hand. He tosses, turns, finally releasing the wetness of his cock and pressing the back of his other hand to his mouth. He sniffles and tries to clean himself up quickly before the shame of what he’s just spent two hours doing can drown him.
Somewhere on the other side of the city, Grace is curled up in his bed fucking his fist to the though of dark leather gloves and teary blue eyes under blonde lashes.