Conjugal Visits

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"You want this?"

Pete stares across the table as the words fall from Stump's lips. "I don't know what you -"

"Yes, you do," he says, leaning back in the chair and spreading his legs out, a hand trailing over his hip to rest near his crotch.

Pete blinks hard when he realises he's been gazing at the in-seam of Stump's grubby jeans for far too long, but he doesn't miss it when those long, white fingers reach to rub at the fly. There's a bulge, for sure, it can't just be the way jeans fit, there's definitely a - no. No, there's no bulge, it's just a trick of the light, Pete is not currently looking at the outline of Stump's dick.

"Mr. Stump - "

"Call me Patrick," the other man all but purrs, pushing his hips forward to - to get more comfortable, surely.

"Patrick," Pete says, fully intent upon finishing his sentence this time until Patrick runs his tongue over that plump bottom lip, sinking his teeth into it, dragging until it springs back into place, wetter and pinker and far too much for Pete to handle.

Pete attempts to adjust his trousers discreetly, but Patrick's eyes light with knowing and his smirk broadens. "You do, don't you?"

Patrick's eyes are on him, glittering with hints of feelings caught between his head and his cock. Pete could so easily get lost in both.

"'Cause you can take it," Patrick says, and Pete barely hears the words over the movement of Patrick's lips, begging to be wrapped around Pete's dick, to be bitten red and raw, to be kissed slick and silly. The man rolls his shoulders back and his tatty jean jacket moves aside to reveal the peaks of his chest straining at the thin fabric of his t-shirt, the hint of nipples Pete would love to close his mouth around.

Pete's about to decline, to shake his head and leave Patrick sitting there with spread legs and nothing to put between them, but then Patrick's fingers reach to scratch at the stubble on his chin before dipping into his mouth and dragging shining trails of saliva in their wake. Pete's brain hands the wheel to his cock. His cock is a poor navigator.

"You're not going to leave me hanging, are you?" Patrick coos, suddenly all fake innocence and wide eyes. "I don't do this often, y'know." Despite the falsity, the mockery, Pete somehow still feels special.

"Well - uh, why don't - why don't you come over here," Pete stammers, his efforts at seduction falling flat. Patrick's eyes still light with a smile, though, and Pete's feels his face flush with arousal. It's been so long since he's had anything other than his own hand. He watches as Patrick gets to his feet, trains his eyes on the hint of hardness pushing at the crotch of Patrick's dark jeans.

He's not entirely sure what Patrick's going to do when he moves nearer to Pete - Pete's half expecting a lap dance, or perhaps Patrick simply wanted to get close enough to knock Pete out and make a run for it - but his heart begins to sprint as Patrick hops up onto the table and spreads his legs so that Pete's eyeline is level with his dick. Pete swallows the sudden excess of saliva in his mouth.

The sound of Patrick's jacket hitting the floor brings Pete back to his senses; he looks up at the man, heat pooling low in his belly as he sees the lust on Patrick's face. He's handsome in a sinfully dirty way, his hair lank under his hat and the beginnings of a beard framing his face. He'd look older if it wasn't for the soft porcelain of his rounded cheeks and the dancing sparkle in his blue eyes. The things Pete wants to do to him are certainly non-regulation. And yet, here they are.

"Go on, then," Patrick smirks, unbuttoning his jeans, and Pete doesn't need to be told twice. He reaches forward and grabs at Patrick's thighs, running his fingers along the in-seam of Patrick's jeans and feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric, begging to be touched. He presses his palm to the line of Patrick's cock, squeezes it lightly and hears Patrick let out a breathy grunt above him.