Chapter Text
It’s three in the morning in a shitty K-Mart, and Rhys is watching some jackass make off with the last tube of his brand of hair gel.
Everything leading up to this point has the result of a series of increasingly bad decisions. Accepting a bet from Fiona earlier that night that he couldn’t chug three Red Bulls in under 5 minutes, that had been a mistake. Actually doing it- another very big mistake. Thinking that the caffeine was out of his system when he threw up 10 minutes later? Absolutely a mistake.
Rhys had tossed and turned for two and a half hours, trying not to think about the fact that he had an 8 a.m. class the next morning, and then resigned himself to a sleepless night and decided he might as well get something done, and since his hands were shaking uncontrollably (both of them, which is how Rhys realized it must have been really bad), any type of academic work or household chore which required fine motor skills was obviously out of the question.
So… grocery shopping. The list was pretty short, since his and Vaughn’s budget was pretty tight, but there were still a few important things to get, so he’d shrugged on a jacket over his pajamas, slipped on a pair of shoes, and headed out to visit the possibly dangerous but reliable 24-hour K-Mart down the street.
He’d picked up the essentials- instant ramen, batteries, paper plates, the look on the cashier’s face was going to be just great- and had headed to the personal care aisles to replenish his supply of gel, but had been stopped in his tracks by another person who’s also at K-Mart at asscrack o’clock. In the hair products section. Taking the last tube of Rhys’ brand.
“Hey, that’s mine!” It’s out of his mouth before he can even think about it. His veins are buzzing with energy, from a combination of sleeplessness and Red Bull. The other man starts, and turns around.
“Is it? What, you called ahead and saved it?” He sneers, seeming more amused than genuinely belligerent, and wow, he’s all firm lips and nice cheekbones, and the strongest jawline Rhys has ever seen on a human being. Trying not to stare, Rhys glances at the man’s cart, and notes the fact that it’s piled high with what seems like every single type of snack food the K-Mart sells. “Tough luck, princess. I was here first.”
Rhys makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. Distantly, he thinks that it shouldn’t be that big an issue. If he comes back at a reasonable time tomorrow, after morning classes are over, the store will probably have restocked, and he can buy it then. There’s no good reason for him to pick a fight with a stranger at three in the morning, even if the stranger is inconveniencing the hell out of him, even if he does seem like a complete asshole, and even if his shoulders look broad and muscular in a way that makes Rhys’ stomach do flip-flops.
“Yeah but that’s… look, there are fifty or so other brands of hair gel here, why don’t you take one of those?” He takes a step closer, squaring his own shoulders and drawing himself up to his full height. Rhys stands an inch or two above the other man, but it doesn’t seem to faze the guy, who raises an amused eyebrow, and smirks in a way that is smug and douchey and completely not attractive.
“Why don’t you?” He asks, arms crossing.
“Because- because-” Rhys struggles to come up with a good excuse, and tries not to seem like he’s fumbling over his words (which he is, but goddamn, people like this guy should not have forearms that look like they’re capable of bending him completely in half). “That’s my brand,” he finishes lamely, face flushing.
The man laughs, shoulders shaking. It might be a little put on, and Rhys glares at him when he bends double and slaps his knee.
“You’re hilarious, sweetheart. Tell you what, you can have the damn gel if it means so much to you. It’s my braand!” He mimics Rhys shrilly, and winks before tossing him the tube, and Rhys is so distracted by his eyes (one blue, one green, both ridiculously pretty) that it smacks him in the face.
“Ow.” The man bursts into laughter again, wiping imaginary tears away from his face.
“Oh, you’re precious, you know that?” Rhys isn’t sure whether it’s supposed to be a compliment, or an insult. He isn’t sure he particularly cares. Bending down, he picks up the tube and puts it in his basket with the rest of his groceries, and turns to go.
He hesitates. The other man is still staring at him, chuckling lightly, and Rhys has everything he needs to storm out with what remains of his dignity intact, but he still hesitates, swallows, and turns back around. There’s just… something about the man, who watches him with interest as Rhys scratches his neck, and coughs.
His body is still buzzing, now with mostly adrenaline as he asks, “Hey, is there a bathroom around here? Or… something like that?” Rhys winces at the sound of his own voice, but at least it’s obvious that he got the point across. The man’s eyebrows raise, and he looks even more smug than he did five seconds previously.
“Damn, kiddo, you know that was free of charge right?” Despite the ribbing, he crooks a finger, and Rhys obediently follows him deeper into the store, heart hammering in his chest as he goes. He’s actually doing this. At three in the morning. With a stranger, in the bathroom of a derelict K-Mart.
Rhys shrugs mentally. He’ll take what he can get, especially from a guy with hands like that, and arms like that, and god, the more Rhys looks, the more he’s convinced that this is all just a very realistic wet dream. It's best for him not to question how or why this has all gone his way.
He gets to the bathroom and closes the door behind him to find the stranger looking him up and down lecherously, concentrating on his legs. Preening under the attention, Rhys blushes, and licks his lips.
“You got a name, kiddo?” The man asks.
“Rhys,” he replies, clenching and unclenching his fists. “What about you?”
“Jack. Just so you know what to scream.” Jack winks, and that level of unbridled cockiness and narcissism shouldn't be attractive, it really shouldn't, but Rhys can still feel his dick twitch in interest.
“You think you can make me scream?” He challenges, stepping forwards hands in his pockets.
“I don't just think it, Rhysie. Now, be a good boy and bend over the sink, would ya?” Rhys does as he’s told, bracing his hands on cold ceramic. Looking up, he flushes darker when he realizes there’s a mirror right in front of his face, and he feels a strong hand cup his ass, squeezing lightly. “Damn. You’ve got some curves back here, sweetheart.” Jack continues to feel him up, slipping underneath the elastic of his waistband. “... Are you seriously in pajamas?”
Rhys huffs in irritation. “You do know what time it is, right? I was in bed before I came here. Pajamas are perfectly acceptable clothing for me to be wearing right now.”
He hears Jack snort, and feels air on his backside when his pants are slid down his waist, piling around his feet. It’s a little chilly in the bathroom, and Rhys feels goosebumps rise on his bare flesh, both from the temperature, and from the special attention Jack is giving his ass and thighs, stroking them, groping them, grabbing him firmly by the hips and grinding hard. Rhys can feel Jack’s erection through the fabric of his jeans, hot and solid.
“Got some nice legs as well, Rhysie. Long ‘n smooth… it makes me wanna bite.” Fingers trail up the insides of his thighs, and Rhys shivers. When Jack abruptly kicks his legs apart, Rhys falls onto his elbows, turning to glare behind him, pissed, but still incredibly aroused. Jack smiles back at him winningly. There’s a popping noise of a bottle opening, and Rhys feels something blunt and wet against his hole.
“You just had lube with you?” Rhys hisses as a finger works him open. He’s not sure he wants to think about what that’s implying, but luckily for him, Jack is good with his hands, stroking and pulling and thoroughly distracting him.
“Hey, the Boy Scout line of thinking’s got some merit.” Jack pushes another finger into him, and Rhys squirms, sucking in a small gasp at the stimulation. He pushes back, only to receive a firm swat on the ass. “Sweetheart, I’m flattered, but be patient. You’ll take what I want to give you, when I want to give it to you, or you’ll get nada.”
Groaning, Rhys leans his upper body forwards, bracing his head on the cold metal faucet. Jack doesn't seem to be in any hurry, and it's driving Rhys up the wall, especially when the two fingers in him brush against his prostate, sending a stab of warm pleasure right to his stomach. The noise Rhys makes when Jack seemingly registers what he just did and does the same thing again is frankly embarrassing.
“Oh, fuck,” he gasps. “That's- yeah, that’s-” He whines, and Jack laughs, short and sharp.
“That good, huh?” He scissors his fingers just so, and Rhys can feel his knees threatening to give out, trembling beneath his overstimulated body as he holds onto the sink for dear life. “Hey, hey- any feedback for me here, kiddo?”
With not inconsiderable effort, Rhys pants out, “You asked my name, you could at least use it.” He moans lowly when Jack grabs a handful of his ass and squeezes. “Jack, I’m-”
“You gonna come?” Again, that unbearably smug tone of voice goes right to Rhys’ cock, and he nods furtively. “Alrighty, c’mon then,” Jack growls, adding a third finger, and twisting his wrist in a way that has Rhys seeing goddamn stars, and then he’s moaning Jack’s name and coming equal parts over himself and the floor.
He feels boneless, and slightly woozy. He feels like kind of a mess. He feels exactly like he just let someone have their way with him while he was bent over the sink in a K-Mart bathroom. The feeling is surprisingly good.
Jack’s far from done with him, though. Rhys hears the sound of a zipper, and feels himself grabbed by the hips and hauled further up onto the sink.
“Can’t believe I’m saying this, but squeeze your legs together, pumpkin.” Rhys does as he’s told, locking his knees, and he feels Jack’s slicked up cock between his thighs. There’s a sigh from behind him as Jack begins to move, sliding against the tender skin of his legs. “God, there are so many parts of you that I’d love to wreck, Rhysie. Wanna fuck that cute mouth of yours- you’d look good with my dick down your throat. Bet you’re great at suckin’ cock too. You’ve got the lips for it. Are you?”
Spent as he is, Rhys feels a flutter of arousal in his stomach. “Y-yeah,” he says, legs shaking with the effort of keeping them in place.
Jack moves his hips faster, panting as he does so. “Would love to fuck your tight little ass too. Fuck you ‘till you scream and beg me for more, then cum inside you and eat you out until you cry.” He’s unravelling, thrusts coming less and less regularly, fingers on Rhys’ hips, leaving little crescent marks where his nails dig into the skin there. “Oh, fuck.”
With a full body shudder, he comes over the back of Rhys’ thighs, warm and wet. They both stay there for a moment, leaning against the sink and catching their breath, before Jack pulls himself off of Rhys, smacking his ass. Rhys groans softly, not quite willing or able to get up yet, even though he can feel semen drying on his legs. He reaches for the paper towels, pulling out one or two to wipe his legs off with.
As he cleans himself off, he’s aware of Jack eyeing him up, smirking. He rolls his eyes, and pulls up his pajama pants, flushing slightly as he does so.
“... So,” he mutters, not quite knowing the appropriate thing to say.
“So,” Jack mimics, stepping closer. “You live around here, yeah?”
“Uh.” It’s Jack’s turn to roll his eyes. He gestures for Rhys to hold out his arm, and pulls a pen out of his pocket. With deft ease, he scribbles a number on Rhys’ arm, and raises an eyebrow when he sees the look of confusion on Rhys’ face.
“It’s my phone number, genius,” he says, and Rhys’ eyes widen in understanding. “As nice as this was, it would be even nicer to fuck you in a place that’s not completely germ-riddled.”
Rhys looks from his arm to the man in front of him. “O-okay.” He grins sheepishly. “I, uh. Should probably get going, though. I have a class, like. Really early tomorrow morning.” With a nod of acknowledgement, and ignoring Jack’s slightly mocking laughter, Rhys beat a hasty retreat out of the bathroom, out of the K-Mart, and back to his apartment.
His phone number. And the promise that they’d definitely be doing all of that again. Rhys lays back down in his bed, flushing as he remembers the things Jack had said to him. His legs and backside are slightly sore, and there are bruises forming at his hips, and he feels amazing.
It’s at that moment that he realizes he left the store without actually purchasing any of the groceries he’d gone there for.