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The blonde bitch hunched over his phone on the chest press bench. Naoya. Choso’s teeth would throw sparks if they could, screeching like tearing steel every time he saw that awkward dye-job. The fire-truck red shirt burned his irises like LEDs.
Some poor girl with a long black braid squatted in front of the mirror right in front of the benches, ten pounds in each hand, knees wavering. Choso didn’t know her, but he knew the pursed lips and downturned eyes, that Naoya’s fucking sneer was burning her through the mirror.
Choso had a quick list for leg day. Squats on the Smith machine, leg extensions, leg curls, deadlifts. He’d gotten through his warmups up on the mat, could feel the blood pulsing in his glutes, felt ready. His shoulders ached from going heavy on his strict presses the day before, and his last leg day had been cut off halfway through when Nobara asked him to join her on shoulders so Noaya would stop fucking smirking at her every time she lifted a pair of weights off the rack. He needed a good leg day.
The gym didn’t let anyone get much distance from each other. Two rows of old machines down the black, a powerlifting mat, and an open space in front of the mirrors. The cardio equipment was tucked into a corner around by the locker rooms, just behind the front desk. Nowhere to hide. Naoya sat at the only chest press bench like a kid left outside the dressing room by his mom, curled around his phone. No equipment stood between him and the heavy-set girl bravely starting another set of squats by the mirror. Her thighs looked fucking delicious in those yoga pants, ass glorious, but Naoya only had eyes for the ten-pound weights propped on her shoulders. His nostrils flared like they offended him.
Choso stepped into his line of sight, shadow cast right across Naoya’s widening eyes, and spoke to him for the first time since their schedules started to line up six months ago. “Are you going to use that or not? You’ve been sitting here for ten minutes.”
Naoya pouted, staring up at Choso through his long eyelashes like a cat. Something mocking never quite left his eyes, like he was always thinking something clever about the way you looked, or how you talked. A smirk that handsome probably kept the girls uncertain, even when he opened his fucking mouth. “Yeah, it’s called power lifting, bro. You gotta take long breaks.”
“That?” Choso snapped, cocking a brow at the cute 175 pounds he had set up. “You call that power lifting?”
Naoya’s smirk slipped. His cheeks flamed up. “Dude,” he said. “That’s…”
Choso knew what he looked like. Black compression tee. Black nails, black eyeliner. Black tattoo across his nose and more streaking down his arms. Silver knives dangled from his ears. He softened none of that. “So, are you using it or not?”
Naoya grumbled, “Yeah, I’m using it. Where’s your…gym etiquette?” His voice wavered.
Choso rolled his eyes. He hadn’t rolled his eyes in someone’s face since he was in elementary school. It made his whole chest hot, disrespecting someone like that, but Naoya’s eyes got wider and his smirk got flatter and he finally lost that permanent look of smugness that marred what was otherwise a rather pretty face. Vicious pleasure curled Choso’s lip. Naoya’s gaze fell to his mouth.
Choso asked. “How many sets do you have left? I’ll spot you.”
“Uh. Only one. I don’t need a spot.”
“Then you’re not power lifting.”
Fury sharpened those eyes for a moment. “Fine,” Naoya said. He lay down under the bar. “It’s about time. Seems like you’ll partner with anyone in this gym with a pussy. If you stopped chasing tail and started pairing with people who can keep up with you—”
“The girls don’t sit around when they could be lifting.” Choso got into position behind Naoya’s head. “They keep up with me better than you could.”
Naoya’s eyes flickered up his body, then back in the direction of the girl.
“Tch.”
Naoya’s teeth clenched. He lifted the bar from the rack and lowered it to his chest. Choso watched. He frequently watched. There were usually all kinds of reasons not to watch strangers at the gym, but Naoya’s shoulders pinched to his waist in a way Choso liked. His ass looked cute in joggers. And he had a hell of a lot of bravado for the lackadaisical and uncommitted way he went about lifting. Fucking poser.
Choso watched Naoya the way Naoya watched women. He let his face scrunch when the bar wobbled, sighed when Naoya slowed on the fifth rep. “Another. C’mon.”
Naoya’s pretty face crumpled with strain. Veins pulsed in his arms. His shirt stretched over his chest. As Choso finally boosted the bar back into the rack, he let out a pretty little gasp of relief.
“Done, right?”
“Uh. Uh-huh.”
Choso yanked the 20s off the ends of the barbell.
“Do you want a…a spot?” Noaya asked, an insincere offer made out of habit.
Because Choso really wanted to stare up at this guy’s crotch at tea-bagging height. Right.
Over by the mirror, the girl with the braid crawled through a set of lunges like a snail, wobbling with every dip. She wasn’t anywhere near finished. Choso would have few excuses to put himself between them if he sent Naoya away now.
“…Yeah, you can…spot me.”
Choso grabbed two 45s off the top of the stack and lugged them back over to slam them in next to Naoya’s 45s. Then he shoved Naoya’s 20s back on. 265 pounds. Naoya studied it with his arms crossed, silent and unhelpful. Tall, sculptural, a model build. Fuck Choso’s thing for tall blonds. He lay back and got into position. Naoya stood over him. He had tits, cute things filling out the front of his t-shirt from below. Fuck.
Six reps went by too fast. The gym bubbled into his ears as he sat up, dimmer than the sound of his breath until it slowly came back to full volume. The girl rested for about ten seconds before starting her next set of lunges. Choso didn’t let his gaze linger. Naoya wasn’t looking anyway. He had his chin ducked, the usual smug smirk shuttered.
“What are the, uh tattoos?”
“Black ink.”
“…Right.”
Naoya never did anything you could report. Rancid vibes weren’t against the code of conduct. The few times a woman had reported him to the desk, they hadn’t been able to say anything but, ‘side-eyeing me like…’ or ‘sighed every time I passed,’ and one time, ‘I think he kicked my stuff over,’ though there was never any proof. None of the guys in the locker room noticed. Naoya schmoozed well enough, kept his space clean, grinned and small-talked when they prompted him. They all stayed clear of Choso, long hair and tattoos, doing his makeup in the mirror.
Women stayed on the treadmills and turned away when Naoya passed. They did the same to guys that talked to him. Even without Naoya there, the girls didn’t tag-team the machines or ask to share weights. Many tried out their little gym for a couple days and never came back. The guys at the front desk had no idea why their gender ratio was so bad, as if they didn’t hear Naoya laughing his ass off in the locker room about the new girl in pink using the lowest weight on the lat pull-down bar, as if they didn’t see him laugh at her on the floor where she could see it in the mirrors.
Too early, Choso lay down for another set. Naoya shuffled back into place overhead. His eyes wandered over Choso’s hands. Another six reps with his arms shaking and his lungs fighting. He’d feel that in his chest tomorrow. His shoulders wouldn’t recover for days. He shifted his glare to Naoya.
“Bro, what the fuck?” Naoya said. He pitched his voice lower when he was trying to posture like an alpha male.
“You don’t like people glaring at you for no reason?” Choso asked. “You think that’s rude?”
“Uh, yeah. ‘Cause it is. Just because you can throw around more weight than me doesn’t mean you can treat me like you don’t want me here.”
Choso slowly sat up, not taking his eyes off Naoya’s as he moved. The red only got brighter in Naoya’s cheeks. A quick glance in the direction of the mirror told Choso that the girl was still planking, only thirty seconds at a time. She was currently flopped stomach-down on the mat, breathing hard. He gestured at Naoya with a finger, telling him to come closer. Naoya’s sharp eyebrows knit together, and he hesitated, but he stepped closer, and then when Choso gestured more aggressively, knelt on the mat to get eye-level with him. A man on his knees, thighs bulging in his shorts.
“Repeat that back to yourself, you fucking hypocrite. The next time I see you glaring at a girl lifting tens, I’ll come kick your shit in.”
A tight little gasp and warbling stammer. Furious red cheeks. Sweat in Naoya’s hairline. He managed some of his usual sneer. “Don’t tell me you’re a feminist,” Naoya said.
“Ugh,” Choso grunted. He had to look away, repulsed like Naoya was a giant turd on the ground. “Be less fucking predictable.”
“Man, you’re—”
“Take your daddy issues and your tiny dick out to your dumbass truck if you really want to feel like a man. I don’t trust you to spot me anyway.”
Naoya didn’t splutter. He didn’t rage. He didn’t give Choso a chance to finally fucking fight him, or prove to the rest of the gym what a spiteful asshole this guy was. In fact, he didn’t even look offended. Choso paused on his back with his knees wide and his arms on the bar, already bracing his core. Naoya’s eyes swept over his body before they landed on his face, and he looked red, dazed, agape. One arm was clutched to his chest, the other inched over his crotch.
Choso ducked under the bar as he sat up. “Were you into that?” he yelped.
The girl with the braid turned all the way around to look at them. Two men over by the Smith machine looked up. Naoya turtled down into his own neck, shot to his feet, and speed-walked to the locker room with ears so red that his blond hair looked sickly yellow.
For ten minutes, Choso hogged the bench, staring in the direction of the locker room door. The man was even messier than Choso thought. Fucking prick, souring Choso’s sense of victory. He’d probably loved Choso putting himself right in his line of sight for the last few months, when Choso had been thinking he was the thorn in his side. Had that been a crush? All the blushing and playing at friendliness?
It changed nothing. Still an asshole. A misogynist ruining the gym culture was still a prick even if he was gay. Even if Choso now got to fantasize about pushing him down onto a yoga ball, pulling down his shorts, and making him bounce—
Choso got up and left his third set undone. He had a Naoya-free gym on his hands, nothing stopping him from finally doing leg day.
Box-blond hair, black roots starting to come in, white muscle tee this time. Those arms looked toned as hell, and Choso couldn’t blame him for showing off. He’d be a hypocrite. He’d started starting showing up to the gym with his hair down, eyeliner fresh, clothes tight, but it had taken Naoya a week to meet the minimum bar of bravery of showing back up on his normal schedule and acting like nothing had happened.
Nobara squat-thrust forty-pound dumbbells by the mirror. Maki ran on the treadmill. And Choso stayed in his corner of the gym, doing curls without any edits to his routine, because Naoya had kept his eyes on his own business since Choso walked in the door.
Between sets, Choso removed his headphones and his hoodie, uncovering the pump—and the crop top—with a slow roll of his shoulders.
That fascinating shade of pink touched Naoya’s cheeks. Choso stared right at him until he made the mistake of trying another peek. Their eyes met. Naoya jerked away like a bad actor in a drama. Choso saw nothing but the pink of Naoya’s ears and the back of his blond head for the rest of the hour. The next day passed the same way, and the next. Furtive glances, blushing cheeks, the satisfaction how heavy Choso’s stare weighed on the shoulders of this tall blond jock.
“You’re hogging it again.”
Naoya whipped to look over his shoulder and pulled away just as fast. Choso leaned nearly over him, braced on the barbell.
“I am not. Go do yoga with your girls and stay out of my business.”
“I do yoga at home. The girls want to be on their own anyway. I only work out with them because it keeps you from being a weird fucking creep in their general direction.”
“I don’t creep on women.”
“Just because you wouldn’t fuck them doesn’t make you better than a creep who would,” Choso said. “Rich to hear you telling anyone to mind their own business.” He slapped the 45 and 20 on one end of Naoya’s barbell. “These haven’t gone up.”
“For fuck’s sake, leave me alone.”
Choso yanked the clip off one side and slid another 10 on the bar, then went to the other side to do the same. “C’mon. Give me another set. Right now. It’s been at least five minutes, and I want to use this.”
“Why are you doing this?”
It sounded enough like pleading to make Choso pause. He leaned on the bar again, staring down through his bangs. He knew what he looked like. Eyeliner thick with subtle wings today, compression tee hugging his waist and shoulders, shorts riding high on his thighs, silver chains around his throat and wrists. “Yesterday,” he said. “Friend of mine caught you leering at her while she was going squats.”
“I was not—”
“I know what you were doing. She wanted to have a laugh with me about the freak in the gym who doesn’t know how to act. Thinks you’re a nervous virgin who’s desperate for female attention and doesn’t know how to get it.”
Naoya bristled, lip curling. He grunted like that actually hurt.
“That’s not quite it though, right?” Choso said. “You’re just fucking hateful. I didn’t tell her who you’ve really got eyes on, but damn did that make it hard to laugh.”
A shaky exhale huffed against Choso’s face, surprisingly minty. Naoya froze like a rabbit, eyes huge. His cheeks looked very pinchable.
“Are you going to push yourself to do better, or do I have to watch you be a fuckup as usual.”
Naoya looked good at about ball sack height, especially with his eyes looking anywhere but up and his breath already puffing out of him. His jaw twitched, and he squeezed his eyes shut like he was bracing himself for something he didn’t want to do. As if he couldn’t just tell Choso to fuck off. Stupid sense of pride, acting like he had something to prove. Bar lowered, teeth gritting, perfect form shaky but holding.
He stalled on rep four, and Choso let him sweat and flail for a couple seconds longer than he’d let anyone else before pulling the bar back into the rack and sighing in open frustration. “Do you need me to take the weight off?” he growled.
“…No.”
Across the room and behind them, Nobara paused between glute bridge sets to sip her protein shake. She raised an eyebrow at Choso in the mirror. He winked at her. She cocked her head to the side.
“You have an audience. Don’t fuck up.”
Nobara wiggled her fingers at them. Naoya rolled his eyes with such disgust that Choso didn’t manage to pull any strength out of his swipe at the back of Naoya’s head, a three-fingers whack that knocked his hair out of place and shoved him forward a few inches.
Naoya spun on the bench and swung. Choso caught his clumsy wrist, probably still rubbery from chest pressing to failure. A thin, shallow gasp hissed between Naoya’s teeth.
“You really wanna try that with me?” Choso asked.
“I can fight,” Naoya snapped. “I have brothers.”
“So do I.” Choso tossed Naoya’s hand away. “You’re the youngest, aren’t you?”
Cute red cheeks again, and the kind of sulky glare that only a youngest brother could develop. Kechizu had a similar one that was much cuter.
“One more set.”
“Give me a break. I gotta rest.”
Choso slouched against the weights. “There’s resting, and then there’s lurking.”
“It hasn’t even been five minutes.”
Choso crossed his arms because he knew it looked good, especially in the compression tee. And then he stared.
Naoya fidgeted, fussing with his shorts. His thighs looked fucking tasty, muscle squishing against the bench.
“Can you cut it out? Stop staring.”
“No.”
“I’m gonna start to think you just like looking at me.” He’d started aggressive, but a breathlessness undercut his tone into quietness, and he couldn’t meet Choso’s eyes. On another man, it’d be cute.
Choso leaned forward on the bar, hovering over him. “You sound hopeful.”
“I’m not!” Naoya leaned away, but wide eyes came back to him, those dense, long eyelashes cutting a sharp and elegant line towards his eyebrows. Choso fucking itched to put him in makeup.
“You’re my type, you know.”
Choso loved that look Naoya gave him, the nervous thrill in a person’s face as he flirted, looking like he did, inherently scary. Normally he’d love to watch it soften into excitement, but he was a wolf about to sink his teeth in, ready for blood in his mouth.
“You wanna know what my type is?”
“I…n—no?”
“Effeminate.”
Pink DSL popped open. Slender arms pulled in against his perky chest like he was clutching his pearls. “I am not—”
Choso laughed right in his face. “You’re cute.”
Naoya looked like he might pop.
“Lie down. You’ve rested long enough.”
To Naoya’s credit, he didn’t immediately do as he was ordered. He sat there panting and glaring with his jaw wagging open. “I am objectively not…effeminate.”
“Sure, sweetheart, but Maki can bench press more than this.”
“She’s not feminine! Do you see my fucking…” he gestured to his own, admittedly very shapely arms.
“Yeah, but do you see your—” Choso reached for Naoya’s narrow jaw.
Naoya’s hand slammed into Choso’s arm, shoving. Choso barely rocked, hand still exactly where he wanted it to be. It did take effort, but he could hide it. Naoya’s long fingers wrapped not quite all the way around Choso’s forearm. For a moment, they stayed frozen, Naoya gripping him, Choso locked in place.
Then he finished his reach for Naoya’s chin, pushing past all his wavering force to grip his face, and swing him around to lie on his back under the bar. Naoya choked down a yelp and clung. In his periphery, Choso thought he saw Nobara do a spit take with her protein shake.
“You idiot,” Naoya hissed. “We’re in public!”
“First time you’ve cared,” Choso said. “Finish your set or I’ll have Maki come over here and do it for you.”
Sweaty and red and shaking, Naoya reached up and grabbed the bar. “I didn’t rest enough.”
“Just do it, Princess.”
The rack rattled as Naoya shook the bar. Choso giggled.
Finally, the bar came off the rack. Safety first, of course. Choso kept his mouth shut as the bar went down to Naoya’s chest. He didn’t comment on Naoya’s lovely form, however shaky, feet pressed into the ground, arms at the perfect angle, core locked. He kept his lungs open, even if his breath out was a slow, tight wheeze.
Choso shifted his hips forward ever so slowly, giving Naoya that absolutely pornographic angle of his crotch, rippling stomach, and the underside of his tits if Naoya made the mistake of looking up.
He did. Halfway through rep three. Rapid blinks, halted breathing. The barbell started to list to one side. One squeak of panic.
Choso heaved the bar back into the rack a split second before Naoya’s knees jerked towards his chest and he rolled off the bench.
He popped to his feet and squared up, stammered a couple syllables of rage cut short by panic. It was the first time they’d stood so close, and Choso gave him a once-over. He was taller. Fucker. Choso liked them taller. Even slouched with his thighs squeezed together like he was trying to hide something.
“You’re fucking disgusting,” Naoya finally managed.
“Yeah.” Choso smirked, shoved his hands in his pockets. “That’s why I’m talking to you. Go hide that boner before someone sees.”
Naoya ran, waddling back to the locker room, giving the ladies and Choso another Naoya-free gym hour.
At the tail end of a quiet Friday, Choso peered through the glass gym doors to see what kind of workout he’d be having. Nobara did shoulder flies by the mirror. Naoya once again camped out on the bench press. It had been about a week. Predictable. He was, as usual, between sets, crunched over his phone, but he had his eyes on Nobara, lip curled and utterly hostile while he watched her do flies with 10 pounds in each hand.
Choso sidled in and stepped up behind her, glaring with equal disdain. Noaya’s eyes met his and dropped immediately. Those pale cheeks flared up. Warmth pooled in Choso’s gut.
“Hey,” Nobara said. “The rat’s been staring at my ass for like ten minutes.”
“I’ll give him something else to stare at,” Choso muttered. He dropped his gym bag and yanked his hoodie off.
Naoya stood and headed for the lat pull-down machine at the back of the gym.
“Coward,” Choso hissed, hoping it was loud enough to carry over the mats.
“What’s going on there?” Nobara said, pausing her flies. “You playing with him? You seem kinda fixated.”
“Mm. Turns out I’m kinda into pathetic men.”
She grimaced and put her weights back in the rack. “I mean, me too, but not pathetic like that.”
“I’m not happy about it.”
“Maki thinks he’s gay. What do you think?”
Naoya had the no-homo energy of a private school graduate who used to enjoy ball-tapping and rat-tailing in locker rooms. People didn’t usually read that as actually gay, but Maki was a smart woman.
“I’m not here to speculate,” Choso said, “but if I get him to lick my boots, I’ll let you know.”
“Pics or it didn’t happen.”
The image caught up to him, Naoya crouching in the locker room, red cheeks, the black leather and buckles of Choso’s boot resting on his shoulder, those pretty pink lips parting. “Ha,” he said. “Yeah.”
Nobara finished her workout and left, leaving only Naoya with his back to the room as he did weighted rows, and the staff member locked onto his phone and facing the doors. Choso dropped his weights and stalked to the back of the gym. “What did I say about kicking your shit in the next time I found you leering at a girl lifting tens.”
Naoya squared up, blushing and sweating but using his few extra inches to lean over Choso. Choso tilted his head to the side, all sweet. Naoya backed off. “Just try it,” he mumbled, and got back to his rows. “There are cameras.”
“I can kick your shit in without fighting you, sweetheart. Don’t let me scare you off the bench press,” Choso said. “I’ll be good until we’re outside.”
The weights dragged Naoya forward with a clank. The handles clattered against the metal frame. “Can you leave me the fuck alone?”
Choso took a seat on the next machine over, knees spread. “Do you want me to? Be honest, because if you tell me to fuck off, I’ll never bother you again, unless I actually want to fight you by the dumpsters, and I will. But I don’t think that’s what you want.”
Naoya made the mistake of looking at him. Choso knew what he looked like. Cut-off t-shirt with a wide collar, tight little shorts, wrist wraps. He’d taken his hair down. Naoya’s spine straightened with a gasp. He tore his eyes away. That vivid red crawled down his neck. A false start at saying something, a heavy swallow, a subtle rock over his lap as he ducked his head.
Finally, Naoya asked, “Is this going somewhere?” Nearly a whisper.
“Are you asking if I’m gonna fuck you in the locker room?”
A little huff, like air forced out of already breathless lungs. “Uh.”
“No. I respect this place too much. I’ll fuck you in the parking lot.”
Naoya rocked in his seat again, eyes wide. He heaved in enough air that it sounded like a gasp. “Now?”
“No way,” Choso scoffed. “Shower first. You’re nasty.”
Naoya’s shower ran after Choso shut his off. He dressed and toweled off his hair, combed it, got everything in his gym bag, and the shower still ran. He pulled his street clothes on slowly, checked his phone. When the shower turned off, he went to the mirrors with his makeup bag.
Naoya emerged with his joggers already on and his towel around his hair. His gaze traveled over the seat of Choso’s pants, then met his eyes in the mirror. Choso waved an eyebrow pencil at him. “I’ll meet you at your truck,” he said. One more chance to chicken out if he needed to. Choso would be satisfied either way.
Naoya tugged a quarter-zip on over his bare chest, grabbed his bag, and stomped out without looking back.
Alone in the humid locker room, Choso took a good long look at his smudged-on eyeliner and drying hair, and gave himself a pep talk he’d never needed before. Don’t back down. Don’t be sweet. Tear him apart.
Then he strapped on his black leather boots and pulled on his hoodie.
The front desk worker locked up as Choso left. He hung out by his own motorcycle long enough for the employee to pull out and disappear down the alley alongside the gym, then he crossed the parking lot to a perfectly shiny, new-looking black F-350 pulled into a back corner of the lot away from the doors and streetlights.
He tried the passenger door. It swung open, unlocked. Naoya curled up in the driver’s seat, which he had shoved as far back from the wheel as it would go and tilted halfway back. The light of his phone glowed on the sharp planes of his face. He looked up at Choso, unmoving, as Choso jumped up into the passenger side and closed the door behind him. Choso slid his seat back to match Naoya’s.
The inside was capacious enough to fit corn-fed farmer types, every inch built for heavy work. Smooth, spotless tan leather and a sturdy center console. Huge mirrors, plenty of cup holders. Sunroof high overhead. Choso let go of his doubts. The uncomfortable, cramped fucks he’d had in commuter vehicles couldn’t compare.
“Some poor farming family has been deprived of a working vehicle because your dick is tiny.”
Naoya tensed. “You’re pretty eager for someone who hates me so much.”
“Ooh real brave once you’re out of the gym, huh?”
The phone light clicked off, leaving them in the sharp shadows and orange light of streetlights through tinted windows. “The only man in there with a problem is you.”
“The only man? Not gonna mention the dozen women who fucking hate you?”
Naoya rolled his eyes. “Why the fuck would I care?”
Choso smacked him, open fingers sharp to the cheek. Naoya gasped and flinched against his headrest. That sexy rush of power snapped through Choso, tightening in his chest, harder and wilder than usual, because this was real. Not a game, not pre-discussed, not an act. There was a real desire to hurt quickening his breath.
He grabbed Naoya by his dry blond hair and pinned his head back against the seat. He put real strength into it, until he felt strands ripping. “If you have to put half the population behind you to feel good about yourself, you are not better than half the population. You’re a bottom feeder.”
Dull brown eyes slit open. “Then why are you here?”
Choso leaned closer, smirking into Naoya’s eyes. “’Cause it’s cute when you blush, Princess. And I wanna spit on you.”
A breathy, soft moan hung in the still air of the truck cab, quickly swallowed.
Choso imitated it, mocking, and Naoya squirmed like that was twisting up in him just right. Another couple boxes ticked themselves off on Choso’s mental list. Choso hadn’t played like this in a while, and there were rules Naoya probably didn’t know about, conversations that he wouldn’t cooperate for. But Choso had his own bare minimums to meet, even when he wanted to do some real damage.
Choso turned onto his knees in his seat, looming over Naoya “What do you want me to do to you, little man?”
Naoya swallowed, glaring through eyes wet with the force pulling his hair.
“Do you want me to fuck your ass?” He squeezed tighter so Naoya couldn’t nod or shake his head. He felt the neck trying to work. “If you’re not man enough to say it out loud, I’m not giving you anything.”
“Yes,” Naoya spit.
“There you go. Want me to hurt you? Treat you like the bitch you are?”
Another broken moan, eyes squeezed shut in a grimace. He’d started to pant. “Do your fucking worst,” Naoya growled.
Choso smacked him, just fingers again. A clumsy hand landed on his stomach, pressing and scrambling without any real push aside from a catlike knead on his abs. Another smack, and Naoya whined. Choso vaulted a knee over the console to land right between Naoya’s thighs, and then pushed up on his opposite foot so slide the knee right into Naoya’s crotch. Naoya jolted against the grip in his hair. He whimpered and shoved at the thigh tight against his balls, managed to get a couple millimeters of space by pushing back into the seat. A tear dripped down his cheek.
“Aww, you cryin’?”
“Shut up! I’m not!”
“Your attitude sucks even here, huh?”
He got gritted teeth and another tear dripping down his face, a weak shove at his thigh.
Choso let go and pulled his hoodie off. He hit the ceiling if he straightened up. Half-kneeling over the console was beginning to actually tax his legs. The steering wheel with its threatening horn buttons brushed against his back.
“We should get in the other seat.”
Long fingers trembled against his waistband. Choso watched with his head cocked to the side as Naoya pushed his fingers under the hem of his cutoff band t-shirt. His touch fanned out over Choso’s tense abs and flattened to his stomach. “You got core-strength like that, Princess?”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Is ‘bitch’ better?”
Nails dug into his sides. Burning lines carved down toward his stomach. Choso’s cock fucking leapt at it, and he hit his head on the ceiling as he convulsed. He grabbed for both hands, and Naoya yanked back, arms over his chest and face like he expected another smack, but Choso went right for his own fly. “You know how to suck cock, or do I have to teach you?”
Naoya froze again, eyes wide on Choso’s crotch. Choso sighed as the zipper released its pressure. He guided himself to lay sideways against his hip where it wouldn’t hurt to grow a little.
“Can you?”
“Y-yes.”
“How much do you want it?”
Naoya eyed Choso’s fingers, trailing up and down that shape in his black briefs, hidden by the shadowy lighting. He hips wiggled in the trap Choso had made between his knee and the seat.
“Pretty bad, huh? Cock whore.”
Scandalized glare.
“Cute.” Choso caught his chin in a rough hand. “Show me,” he said, and shoved two fingers past Naoya’s lips. “Prove you know what to do with this.”
Naoya’s eyes squeezed shut. His fingers wrapped around Choso’s wrists, not quite reaching all the way around again, but he didn’t pull against him. He took Choso’s fingers right to the back of his mouth and swallowed—swallowed—choked. Choso pulled out, felt him fight to get his throat to behave, he pushed back deeper, and Naoya took him better. His hips wiggled again, jerkier this time. A soft pulse in and out. He pet Naoya’s tongue. He got wet inside, hot. His tongue pushed between Choso’s fingers, really working.
Bitchass Naoya, being so good for him. Choso’s cock pulsed. “Good girl,” he breathed.
Full-body shudder. Bingo.
Naoya yanked Choso’s fingers out of his mouth and punched him in the stomach, twice. Choso tensed in time, but it still hurt. He got control of Naoya’s hands and forced them back against his shoulders. Naoya panted. His hips jerked in the trap again, in rhythm, grinding his balls against Choso’s knee.
“That how you want to play?” Choso said. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman for a pretty Princess if you want me to, but you want to wrestle?”
Renewed struggle. Naoya got a hand free and grabbed the front of Choso’s shirt, a fist in his collar like some kind of movie fight. His breath came fast and hard, thighs squeezing.
“As much as I’d love to see you cum in your pants…” Choso muttered, and pulled his knee back. Naoya whined and chased. “I wanna see you suck my cock more.” He shuffled his pants down his hips and pulled his dick out of his underwear. A guttural noise rattled the air. Naoya’s hand dropped to him. Choso didn’t fight it. He let Naoya take him in a fist and pull. He braced his hands on the back of the seat and gasped as Naoya’s unforgiving, tight fist wrenched over him. The pain made his elbows shake as much as the relief.
Naoya couldn’t reach with his mouth in that position though, and Choso would be oversensitive to the point of uselessness if he kept it up. He smacked Naoya’s hands away and lurched up, got his boot in the seat next to Naoya’s thigh, might have pinched him with it a little going by the fast grab and the hiss.
“Drop your seat back as far as it’ll go,” Choso ordered.
The seat dropped back, reclining Naoya another twenty degrees. Knee up on the console, Choso all but climbed over him to brace against the back seats. His cock hung over Naoya’s chest level, and all he had to do was shuffle down and open his mouth.
“Don’t fucking touch yourself,” Choso ordered. “Put your hands on my thighs.”
Naoya glared, but his hands snaked around Choso’s thighs. Choso touched his tip to Naoya’s lips. Heat swirled around the head. A weak, cut-off moan lanced through the muted quiet of the cab again before Naoya opened up, pulled Choso’s thighs down, and gagged himself. A deep rhythm started, right in the opening of Naoya’s throat.
Pretty pink lips stretched around Choso’s girth. Tears clung to long black eyelashes. Strong shoulders tensed as he controlled Choso’s pace, and he clenched his eyebrows. Those cheeks hollowed on high cheekbones and a strong jaw. Naoya had never looked more like a man than he did with a dick down his throat. Even Choso’s most indulgent fantasies hadn’t done this justice.
“Oh-h fuck, is this what they teach in private school?”
Teeth brushed against Choso’s glans, a controlled punishment. Choso’s core spasmed, already beginning to ache from the awkward plank he was in, the tension he held against Naoya’s grip. He moaned easily. None of those hushed huffs of pleasure and choked groans. Naoya needed to know how good he was at sucking dick.
“Jesus, man. How many dicks have you—”
Naoya deep-throated him. Held him down and swallowed. Squeezed Choso’s ass hard enough to leave bruises. Choso jerked. He couldn’t help it. His hips lurched forward and Naoya’s throat spasmed. Choso pulled out of his suddenly weak grip and Naoya curled onto his side, gagging behind a hand.
“Sorry, sorry,” Choso murmured. He backed off and gave Naoya some space, as much as he could still looming over him. He coughed. “My bad. That was killer, man. Holy shit. I’ll let you fuck my throat too if you want.”
Some of the tension in Naoya’s body eased. He lay against his seat, panting. “You’d let me,” he asked, voice wrecked.
“Yeah. Don’t think it’d be that good though. I haven’t spent nearly enough time on my knees to blow a guy like that. Jesus.”
Naoya shoved him.
“That could be your full-time job, Princess.”
“Okay, shut up.”
Choso pulled off his shirt. The evening didn’t feel so cool anymore, air starting to go stale, but not yet muggy. He backed up, nearly ran into the steering wheel, and had to freeze with his head pressed to the ceiling.
“Move to the passenger seat.”
Naoya rolled onto his back, aloof. His shirt had rucked up to his waist. His hair looked a mess. Tear tracks shone in the streetlight. Choso was dangerously close to caressing his swollen lips when Naoya snapped, in a rough and wet voice, “It’s your fault you’re that big. Live with it.”
Choso felt a strong urge to grab him like a chew toy in his jaws and shake him into shreds of cotton stuffing and ripped fabric. Choso relaxed his weight back. The car horn shattered the quiet evening.
“You! Fucking! Cunt!” Naoya squealed, hauling him forward by the shirt. The horn cut off. “Oh my fucking God! There’s an apartment building across the street!”
“Better to honk it before it’s bouncing than during,” Choso said. “Move the fuck over before I slap you again.”
Naoya yanked on his shirt and pulled himself up more than he pulled Choso down. “Do it,” he hissed.
Choso slapped him for real. Palm across the cheek instead of fingers. Low force, but Naoya fell off his shirt like a crab knocked loose from a line. He fell onto the console clutching his cheek. “We can do it this way,” Choso said. He gabbed Naoya under the armpits and bodily heaved him chest-first into the passenger seat, then grabbed his hips and arranged them how he wanted them across the console. He went beautifully, the firm give of his body delicious in Choso’s palms. “This what you wanted, Princess?” Choso asked, and slapped his ass.
No answer came. Naoya gulped and gasped and pulled his arms under himself. His hips shifted over the console, cute little cake in his gray joggers. Choso smacked it again just for Naoya to arch back.
He yanked the pants down under that cute ass and let the band snap against his skin. Naoya’s thighs squeezed together. No briefs under the joggers, just smooth, soft skin and a round butt. Naoya pushed his forehead into the tan leather of the passenger seat. His ears looked painfully red.
The shirt took some shoving, but Naoya helped pull it off with weak hands and left it in the footwell. The streetlight lit up most of his body in sodium orange. A strong, sculpted back, dimples at his shoulder blades, prominent spine dip, the pinch of a tiny waist flaring to that pert, round butt.
Choso ran his hands from ribs to ass, then sank his thumbs in, pulling those cheeks apart to see a nearly hairless hole. Naoya squirmed. His breaths turned to gasps. “You’re so pretty like this,” Choso murmured. “Face down. You know you have a mole right here?” He pressed into the little dark beauty mark a couple inches above his hole and a little to the left. It hid again as Naoya clenched.
“Can you just…do it?”
“Aww, Princess, you want it that bad? You been thinking about this when I’m working out? Wanna see what these hips can do?” He leaned way over Naoya’s body, hands on the leather seat under his arms, and reached down for his gym bag in the footwell. He kept his emergency stash in one of the side pockets: condoms and packets of lube he’d picked up at a repro health booth at a punk art fair he’d been to six months ago.
Naoya had turned his head, wide eyes trailing over Choso’s arm. He rose up on an elbow to watch as Choso sat back up. Choso dropped his packets into the key tray by the stick shift and pulled his shirt off. He flexed, and orange light cast deep shadows between his abs and over his arms. The thin black tattoos down his arms blended with the shadows. A wheeze of a moan escaped Naoya’s mouth.
“Alright, let’s see how small you actually are,” Choso said, and Naoya’s thighs clenched together again. Choso snickered and lifted Naoya’s hip enough to slide his palm down the crease. His fingers met pubic hair, and then the slender base of a cock so rock hard that Choso’s twitched in sympathy.
“Oh my god,” Choso laughed. He wrapped a careful fist around Naoya’s tiny cock. He tugged it. One delicate jerk of his wrist and the whole thing slipped out of his fingers. “How do you even jerk off with this? You’re so small.” He knocked the own breath out of himself saying that out loud to someone. Brutal. What a thrill.
The cock twitched against his palm. Naoya breathed fast and hard, face pressed into the seat again.
“I already knew that,” Choso said. “You give yourself away, Princess. Huge truck you don’t need, all that girl hate, your whole stupid personality. Small dick energy.”
Naoya’s thighs shook where they pressed against the console. His panting filled the truck. His cock kicked and pulsed in Choso’s grip as he started a slow, dry grind. The whole thing and Naoya’s balls fit in one hand, and he barely had to move his wrist. How easy. Never mind. Jerking off had to be so easy with this thing.
“I don’t think I can deep-throat this, baby,” Choso said. “I don’t think it’ll reach.”
A strained whimper huffed out of Naoya, muffled into the leather. His hips trembled.
“I can’t let you come this fast though,” Choso said. “There’s only so much second-hand embarrassment I can take before I get soft.” He let go. Naoya heaved in air like he’d been let up from underwater.
Choso shoved Naoya’s knees as wide as he could get them, one against the back of the driver’s seat and the other at the forward edge. Naoya squirmed over the console, getting his cock hooked back over the edge of it so he wasn’t crushing it under himself. Choso’s cock still hung out of his pants, hard, more than twice as long. Naoya’s really cute butt wiggled around in front of him. He got two big handfuls and kneaded, watched it bounce back when he let it go. His hole winked and twitched with every touch. Choso ripped open a condom packet and rolled it on.
“What’s taking so long?” Naoya mumbled.
“Why rush when I’ve got such a good view?”
“Is it?” Breathy and soft.
Choso brushed a knuckle down the three inches of cock hard and leaking against the back of the console, just a pale shadow against the hard plastic, squished the balls with his fingertips, lay a stinging smack against the back of one bouncing cheek with his fingertips. “Yeah,” he said. He got a good grope in on one firm but narrow thigh. “Hit leg day a little more often, okay?”
“Sh-shut up.”
Choso found a lube packet and fisted himself, preparing to just dump it all on there and spear him in one—
He paused.
“Hey, serious question. How much practice have you gotten at this?”
“Hn? Like…”
Choso ran a finger down his crack, bumping over his hole and the sparse, short hair. A worrying shudder ran its way up Naoya’s back. “Like what’s the biggest thing you’ve put in here, and how much prep did you need?”
Stiff, awkward silence. Distant car noises at the intersection a block over. Choso gave his ass a soothing squeeze and waited, a half-ripped lube packet held gently upright in his left hand.
“My, um…” Naoya waved his hand. “Fingers.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Choso breathed. “You’re a fucking virgin.”
“I am not!” Naoya spit. He pushed up on one hand. “I always t-top.”
“Yeah right. With what?” Choso spanked him. Really spanked him this time, with his palm, putting a little force into it. Naoya’s elbow buckled. He crumpled onto the seat. “You always use your mouth, right? That’s not topping.”
He spanked again, and a broken yelp cracked out of Naoya’s throat.
“This is going to take more work than you deserve,” Choso growled. “I already put the fucking condom on too. You better not be a bitch about this.”
“You don’t need a fucking condom.”
Choso hit him hard, the first spank that made him shriek and cave. White finger marks bloomed on his skin.
“Maybe you can’t get laid often enough to know this,” Choso growled. “but that’s not how you fucking do it. No way in hell I’m fucking you raw. I ain’t risking shit for you. Go find a gross old prick in a strip club and get all the fucking diseases you want.”
More gasping into the leather. Choso dumped the lube packet onto his fingers. He pressed his middle finger right to Naoya’s hole, felt it wink and pulse and open up. He pushed and the tip sank past the rim, which clenched. Choso paused and waited. Two deep breaths later, and the tension relaxed around him.
“Okay, good girl,” Choso said.
A sharp squeeze around his finger, pulling him deeper. Naoya’s back arched. A vicious pulse of arousal echoed in Choso’s gut. His usual fury at that blond hair and little waist urged him to shove right in, to spank him until he bloomed purple and red. He pushed his finger all the way in, and it went.
“Do you like it when it hurts, Naoya?” he breathed.
A shuddery gasp that could not have been a ‘no.’ Choso pushed a second finger in, testing. Naoya took it with only a little tension curling his shoulders. His little cock remained dark and stiff against the console. Gross wet sucking noises filled the cab as he thrust in and out.
“You fingered yourself in the shower, right?”
“Mm, Choso…”
Choso almost paused. Something about hearing his own name. He wasn’t sure Naoya had ever used it before. He angled down, searching the velvety hot walls until he found a swollen spot that made Naoya’s back arch and his cock twitch. Naoya already knew about this feeling. No virginal surprise to his gasp, no jerk of his thighs. He pushed into Choso’s fingers and stretched like a cat. Those long fingers must be good for this at least. Choso circled it with a delicate touch, and Naoya’s body went languid. He tilted his head to the side, brow smooth and lips open.
Mesmerized, Choso kept it up, staring. Prostate play had never felt this good for him. Even when he managed to nail it with a vibrator, even on the rare occasion that a partner had found it fingering him, it was just extra flavor to a rhythm on his cock, not anything worth doing by itself. He’d mostly given it up as too much mess for too little return. Unless he had partners that really wanted to top him, or a long, empty afternoon with a particular craving, he didn’t bother anymore.
Every subtle tremble of Naoya’s hips and hitched sigh from his chest gave away just how much he needed it like this. He arched up, offering himself to Choso’s fingers, uninterested in the minimal friction against the console that Choso would be chasing like a lifeline right now.
It was jealousy that had Choso rising onto his knees without warning, sliding his fingers to the rim to open a path, driving his tip past the tight, yielding ring.
Naoya went from boneless to drawn tight in a dazed moment. His lungs caught up three seconds later in a wheezing gasp as his ass seized into tension. Choso got two inches in before he got caught in the vice, frozen with his tip squeezed with heat and wet.
“No, Princess,” Choso whined. “You were doing so good. Relax.”
Naoya braced up on his elbows, shaking around Choso’s girth. He gasped loud and fast, every inch of him taut.
“You were doing it,” Choso said. “Deep breaths. Relax. You were perfect just now.”
A warbling moan shook through the car, needy and scared, trailing off into breath. Choso held still and rubbed his lower back.
“Breathe, baby,” he murmured, and showed him, a long inhale, a slow exhale. Two more. The vice slowly released and Choso sank another few millimeters in only for him to lock up again. “Don’t hyperventilate. C’mon. Deep breaths. It’s just a cock. I’m not that big.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Choso chuckled. He trailed his fingers between Naoya’s hips to wrap around his cock and jerk softly and slowly. He relaxed a little, and this time Choso didn’t move, letting him get used to it. His hips itched to shove forward, to start that rocking rhythm that would bring him euphoria, so good in this tight hole that he knew he’d see stars, but he’d just said he wasn’t a gross old prick, so he held still as Naoya slowly adjusted. He’d gone in too early, but Naoya had said he liked it when it hurt.
Finally, he felt loose enough to push forward, and Naoya only gasped and fluttered. He got in with short, soft pulses, until he was almost to the base and Naoya was starting to whimper. Pitiful. So pathetic that it tugged at Choso’s heartstrings.
He pushed in with one long, slow thrust, right to the hilt. Naoya’s cock, which was beginning to shrink under his cute, fuzzy balls, twitched and peeked out again. Choso tested the waters, longer, faster, leaning into the angle to drive down. Naoya wiggled back after one thrust, loosening suddenly. Found it.
Choso steadied his hip with his right hand, the left braced against the dashboard. The suspension started to take some force, truck rocking back in barely-there waves that complicated Choso’s aim. He overcompensated, rocking harder into it.
“S—” Naoya started, and then cut off with a gasp. “No! S-Stop!”
Choso’s stomach dropped. He pulled out. Naoya yelped. “Oh fuck,” Choso gasped. He held his hands up and away. “I’m sorry. You okay?”
Naoya pushed up on shaky arms. He looked back. “Dude, no,” he whined. “I didn’t mean, like, actually.”
Choso started to say something, he knew not what, and then sagged sideways onto his hand on the dashboard. He closed his eyes and breathed. His pounding heart slowly dropped off.
“…what?”
“Scared the shit out of me,” Choso said. “You sure you’re fine? I can stop if you want to stop.”
Naoya tried to sit up, realized that would shove his ass right back into Choso’s lap, and sank back onto his chest. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he grumbled. “Sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry. I’m the one who knows better. We can do it like that if you want, but do you have a safeword?”
Naoya snorted and rolled his eyes. “No? I’m not some pussy-ass—”
“Oh my god, shut up. Just use the fucking color system. If you want me to stop, say ‘red.’”
Naoya groaned. “That’s so dumb. That ruins it.”
“Ruins—” Choso gripped his head. “Do you think I’d just fucking assault you? Fuck off! Holy shit!”
Naoya shuffled onto his side to glare, a little pouty. “If you don’t have the balls to—”
“You don’t even know what you’re asking for, do you? Can you tell me what CNC means?”
Silence. Shifty eyes.
“Look it up. No, I will not actually fucking assault you, you fucking asshole. I wouldn’t do that. Fuck you.”
The sweet little pout on Naoya’s face wobbled. He hunkered down into the leather seat and mumbled, “Okay, sorry, I won’t…”
“You can tell me to stop,” Choso said, “I can try that. But if you like, really need me to actually stop, say ‘red.’ Do you get it?”
“Yeah, okay. ‘Red.’ Got it. I just want…”
“Yeah, I know what you want. You can try it again. I won’t stop this time.” Choso grabbed back onto his ass, but had to pause a moment and breathe, and then fisted himself back to hardness with a new packet of lube.
“Dick problems?” Naoya grumbled.
“Yeah. That was a turn off.”
Naoya buried his fingers in his hair. “Knew you couldn’t handle me—”
Choso spanked him, hard and unforgiving, splattering lube and raising a handprint on the bottom curve of his ass, then again and again. “That what you wanted?” He asked, as a guttural yell burst out of Naoya’s throat. “You want me to be man enough to hurt you?” Naoya’s hips stuttered against the console. “It’s a fucking blessing you’re not interested in touching women. You’re a fucking curse on the people who know you. Grow the fuck up.”
“Agh! Choso! No, please!”
Choso stuttered in his wind-up. He clenched his teeth and hit him as hard as he could in the tight space. Naoya jerked and trembled. His little cock dripped down the side of the console. His toes curled against Choso’s leg. Choso grabbed both of Naoya’s hips in a bruising grip and hauled him onto his cock.
He went in easy. All the tension had vanished. Choso sank all the way in, so deep and easy, and moaned at it. All that wet heat sucked him up.
Naoya arched and trembled. He pushed back with a beautiful curve, lats straining, triceps bulging, trying to force that downward angle again. A cry burst out of him when he found it. Choso drilled in. He had hip thrusters to cash in on, glute bridges. He’d been working on his hip flexibility. Veins stood out in his arms, in his hips. He beat Naoya’s ass in a rhythm with his thrusts.
“Please, ah! Choso! Ah! Ah!” Naoya sobbed, but he strained back. Every hit had him squeezing around Choso’s length, pulling him right back in. The truck rocked, but the suspension took it. The windows fogged. The console creaked but held.
“This truck was made for fucking big men,” Choso groaned. “That why you bought it? Or did you get it from your daddy?”
He slapped again and again, loving the way Naoya clenched every time.
Naoya reached back and grabbed for Choso’s spanking hand, and Choso ripped out of his grip. He grabbed Naoya’s hand instead and pinned it to his back. Shaking fingers wrapped around Choso’s thumb. He gave Naoya the break he’d asked for, and fucked him while watched his pale skin mottle red, darkening to purple.
Soft, thin moans hung under the rhythm of balls smacking against skin, the creaking of the console approaching its weight limit. Choso hushed his own moaning and held his breath long enough to hear. High, thin moans, cut with sobbing hiccups, breath caught in the throat.
“Good girl,” Choso purred. “Baby girl.”
Naoya’s hand squeezed tight around his thumb. He got fluttery inside, tightening up, thighs shaking. Choso cupped a hand around the tip of Naoya’s cock and fucked in hard and fast, straight down into that spot that made him clench. He stroked with his fingers, tip tucked into his palm. Naoya came with a wail. Choso caught it before it could drip down the console and under the seat, though that would have been a hilarious smell to take to his next oil change. He grabbed Naoya’s shirt out of the footwell to wipe off.
Then he leaned back and kept going. He gripped Naoya’s hips and chased. Even though he aimed away from that spot, Naoya clawed at the leather. He wrapped his arm under the chair and tried to haul himself away. Choso laughed until it dissolved into moans, clenched in Naoya’s fluttering heat and listening to him cry as it built and built.
“Stop,” Naoya sobbed. “Please! Stop, Choso, it hurts!”
Choso breathed down the sudden tightness in his chest and fought to keep that cresting edge to his pleasure. “Shh. Lemme finish.”
“Stop!” Noaya sobbed, “Please stop!”
“Safeword?”
Naoya reached back and smacked his leg. He hissed through his teeth like an angry cat.
“Jeez, my bad,” Choso laughed. But something about that sudden lightness pushed Choso over the edge. He moaned and slowed to a deep, slow pulse as he finished deep.
The bouncing of the cab steadied. Two sets of heavy breathing slowed into quietness. Choso gently pulled out and got the condom knotted off. He wiped off on Naoya’s shirt again and tucked himself back into his pants.
Naoya pushed himself upright, putting himself in Choso’s lap with his head turned against this ceiling, and pulled his joggers up over his wet, bruising cheeks. Choso steadied his waist and pulled him against his chest. Naoya bowed his head.
“How do you feel?” Choso asked. “What do you need?”
“Huh? Um…I’m done. Don’t need anything.” But his weight leaned back into Choso’s chest.
Choso ran a thumb over Naoya’s abs and kissed the curve of his bicep. He lay slowly back in the seat with Naoya curled into his shoulder, weight on his left side between Choso’s legs. Choso ran a tacky hand through his hair.
“That was hot,” he said. “I can’t believe that was your first time. You were so good.”
“Ugh,” Naoya grunted. “Stop talking.”
Choso tapped the window control, but the car wasn’t on and it didn’t go down. Naoya trailed clumsy fingers over Choso’s chest and arm. He lingered across the curve of his pec and in the swell of his shoulder. He shivered in tense little bursts.
“You’re gonna feel bad for a bit,” Choso said. “It’s a come-down. It’ll pass.”
Naoya leaned further back against the door to get a look at Choso’s face, and his eyes dropped immediately back to Choso’s pecs. “Why are we cuddling?”
“Same reason. Helps with the come-down.”
“Cum-down, ha ha.”
Choso snorted. “Yeah.”
Naoya’s hand went still, cupped around Choso’s arm just above the elbow. He stared down at the way his thumb indented Choso’s muscle. “If you…” he started, “…fucking tell anyone…about this…”
“You’ll do what?” Choso said. “Run me down on the highway with your stupid truck?”
“I have a cousin who’s a hitman.”
“Oh wow, a real threat,” Choso said. “And I almost respected you for a few minutes there.”
Naoya had a beautiful glare, long eyelashes over red cheeks. “You think I’m lying?”
“It doesn’t matter if you’re lying, because I’m not going to tell anyone. Unlike you, I’m not the kind of shitty human who would out someone, even someone I hate. If you thought I would, why the hell did you fuck me?”
“Because you’re the kind of soft idiot who would actually commit to that,” Naoya said. “You live in a fantasy world where chivalry still has value.”
“Damn right,” Choso said. “Also, what the fuck, chivalry?”
“Always being a knight in shining armor. If you actually thought women were equal to you, you wouldn’t bother.”
“Okay, ignoring the adorable implication that you’re also a damsel depending on my chivalry—Is that what you tell yourself? You make it about me being a ‘nice guy’ so it’s not about you being a weird creep?”
Naoya got more and more tense in his lap.
“It’s responsibility, not chivalry. I’m the one who can throw you across a room, so it’s my job to stand in your way.”
Almost in a whisper, Naoya mumbled, “You could not.” His eyes were fixed under Choso’s chin, hand gripping his arm with too much strength.
“Wanna see?” Choso pushed a hand under his legs and lifted. It wasn’t a true curl. He braced with his chest and heaved up with his hips, but Naoya yelped as he lifted off Choso’s lap, and gasped as Choso squeezed him close. “Princess.”
“S-stop. Okay, stop. Red, or whatever.”
Choso set him back down in his lap and clamped his lips over a joke about Naoya’s tiny dick not being able to handle it this soon.
“Fuck.” Naoya pushed off of him and leaned against the window, legs hanging over the console. He ground the heels of his palms into his eyes.
“You’re down so fucking bad, aren’t you?”
“Shut up.”
Choso hadn’t even spat on him yet, hadn’t seen that pretty face lick his boots, hadn’t tied him up and made him beg, hadn’t edged him. Even now, he wanted to run a hand up Naoya’s leg and grind it into his oversensitive cock, or make him show his pretty face, bounce his knee against the bruises on his ass, watch Naoya give into his own lust again and mock him for it. But he’d said Red, so Choso stayed still and waited to get kicked out.
Instead, Naoya grabbed him by the cheeks with clumsy, halting hands, and mashed their mouths together. One slide of lips, one gasp between them, and Choso cringed away back into the car seat. Naoya broke away and hid in Choso’s shoulder.
Out of sight, Choso grimaced with his whole face and fought down the shudder working its way through him. “I, uh…wasn’t thinking this was that kinda thing.”
“It’s not.” Even on two short syllables, Naoya’s voice shook. His thighs shifted together and Choso got the truly uncomfortable feeling that he’d gotten off on even that rejection.
“Not sure I wanna do this again either, since you threatened me.”
Naoya hissed, “Pussy.”
“Mm. The fun thing about not hating women is that I don’t care about insults like that.”
“You’re the fucking hypocrite. You’ve been using those on me all evening.”
Choso sighed. He could visualize shoving Naoya right into the car horn so vividly that it made his mouth water. “That’s because it’s your kink. You’re weird about gender stuff, and you have a degradation kink. I stuck them together for the scene. That wasn’t real.”
Naoya finally pulled Choso’s head out of his shoulder to give him a look of utter disgust that disguised some real confusion.
“You are actually pathetic. Nothing princess about that. How about you Google safe BDSM before you get someone to fuck you like this again?”
“BD—this isn’t—that’s so—”
“It is. That’s exactly what this is. These are not cute little kinks we’re working with here.”
Silence fell in the truck. Naoya recoiled like he’d never adjusted his impression of that term past the rumors of Fifty Shades that reached high school boys, and the kinds of cartoonish dungeon porn you might sneak a peek at on a dare.
“You’re a natural, baby. We’re, like, really sexually compatible. Aren’t you fucking lucky I already know what I’m doing.”
Naoya flinched. “Don’t tell me that.”
Choso couldn’t even tease. Wet cat looking motherfucker going all red in his own car seat, sitting on his crush’s lap and watching him grimace. Naoya rubbed his eyes. He had a close-to-tears twist to his lips, breathing uneven. A gentleman would stay until his sub was okay, but Choso was starting to get the feeling that Naoya wouldn’t bring himself to push Choso away. All the rude shit that would get him kicked out of the truck stuck in his chest. Naoya would just get turned on. He could be as mean as he knew how, and Naoya would cling harder. Really took the wind out of his sails.
He’d promised himself he wouldn’t be sweet. Naoya didn’t deserve it.
“Can I leave?”
A beat of silence as Naoya’s shoulders sank. Naoya pulled his legs in, indicating that Choso needed to crawl out from under him into the passenger seat instead of himself crawling off. Choso hauled himself over the damp, sticky console. Naoya’s ass hit the seat with a choked groan.
“Get some ice on your ass when you get home, okay? That’s gonna bruise like crazy.” Choso found his shirt and pulled it on.
“Why do you care?”
“Good point. Fucking be miserable if you want.”
Choso popped the door open. Gloriously cool, wet air slapped him in the face. He sighed, slid out, and dropped a foot further down into the parking lot than he’d been ready for. “Jesus fuck why.”
“Enjoy riding your little bike home.”
“I will, thanks. Enjoy craning your spindly neck over the steering wheel.”
Choso put his hair up, checked his texts, and got his tunes playing inside his helmet, but the F-350 was still there in the parking lot as he drove away, dark under the streetlights as if no one was in it.
Nobara said, “Don’t look now, but your boyfriend’s right behind you.”
Choso turned just as Naoya tripped over a pile of kettlebells trying to put space between them. He got his toe caught in a handle of a fifty-pounder and fell onto a bench.
“Have you two kissed yet?” Nobara asked, face masterfully disinterested as he flailed. “Let a little steam off?”
Naoya pull his toe out of the handle and struggled to get his feet under him. “I’m not…! I wouldn’t! Fuck off, you stupid b—eek!”
Choso stepped into the mess of kettlebells and shoved Naoya back onto the bench. A couple other guys stopped work at their machines and looked over. Naoya slid down to the floor, eyes bugging. Choso knew what he looked like. Eyeliner extra thick today, scoop-neck tank top clinging to his tits and showing off his tattoos, lip ring in. He knew what this looked like too, bullying a smaller dude in the gym in front of a women. Naoya’s eyes flashed to the mirror, taking in the dudes staring, the picture they made of himself cowering on the floor and Choso standing over him. Naoya’s knees pulled in. That same heat from a week early coiled dirty and addictive in Choso’s stomach.
Nobara said, “Good girl, Princess, you can back off.”
Choso stepped back out of the kettlebells and got a pat on the shoulder from his favorite lesbian. But Nobara was still staring down at Naoya, who was slack-jawed and blotchy red. “Oh, did you think I meant you?” she said. A disparaging smirk curled over her lips as she turned her back on him. “I would never call you a ‘good girl.’”
“’Bad dog’ works,” Choso said, still grinning down at a blushing Naoya making something akin to bedroom eyes at him from his cartoonish sprawl amidst the free-weights. He probably didn’t realize it, but his long legs looked good folded under him like that. “I think you should actually call him a princess and see what happens.”
“I’m not gonna work him up,” Nobara said, already back on her phone and sauntering in the direction of the treadmills. “I think he’d like to hear it from you. Take pity on him if you must.”
She’d been mocking just to mock, unaware of how many nails she was hitting right on the head. Choso smirked down at the blood draining out of Naoya’s stunned face.
Choso squatted down in front of him. “You look cute down there, Princess.”
“Oh my God,” Naoya breathed. “Choso.” He pulled his knees in tighter, probably protecting a situation in his pants from view. Choso let his eyes drop to it and linger, realized which side of his ass he was holding off the ground. He sighed, bitter down in his soul for what a temptation this pathetic little man was. Someone that he could be cruel to for real. He’d punish Naoya good for making him want this.
“Wanna come home with me?” He asked. “Let me see those bruises I left on you. Don’t fucking kiss me this time though.”
Naoya tipped his head back against the bench and squeezed his eyes shut. “Okay, sure,” he muttered.
“I’ll see you in the parking lot.” Choso left him crumpled on the floor and followed Nobara to the treadmills.
If Nobara had seen Naoya an hour later, humping a stuffed animal on Choso’s black sheets, whining into Choso’s mouth he got his hair pulled, and shaking as Choso gripped his bruised-purple asscheek, she might’ve called him a good girl too.