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There’s a new band playing at Live House tonight, one Shaw had picked out himself. They’re decent, the lead singer’s hoarse voice accompanied the swell of the music, echoing off the walls of the building. He hopes he’ll remember more about their performance later.
The screaming cheers of the audience drowns out any sounds in the small bathroom; there’s an incredulous sort of laugh building in his throat, and his head falls back against the tiled wall with a low thump as a soft groan comes out instead. They’re going to ask for feedback on the music later, and he’s going to lie through his teeth. Fan-fucking-tastic, he’ll say, and agree to a gig next week.
He will forever deny the tremble in his fingers as they come to rest on your head, stroking once before sliding down to cup your cheek. He’s certain you make quite the filthy image together; a small, dark bathroom with neon lighting and graffiti on the wall. Him, with his blue jeans pushed hastily down to the middle of his shaky thighs and you–
You look up at him through your lashes, eyes still glazed over as you blink once, twice. Heat sears through his gut, spine aching with pleasure. You swallow around his cock, humming at the bone-deep shudder that travels through his limbs. His hips jerk, helpless, and your eyes flutter shut as you take him deeper, just a little bit more. His mouth falls open as he tries to say something, anything , that won’t give away his ruined state.
There’s a loud knock at the door, more of a banging really, that precedes annoyed yelling.
“You gonna take forever in there? There’s a line out here!”
“Fuck off ,” Shaw snaps back, swallowing back a frustrated curse as you pull back, letting his slick length slip out of your mouth. He swears anyway, when your deft fingers glide along the curve of his balls. Sparks come to life on the tips of his fingers, and he clenches them shut.
The sight of your shiny swollen lips, messy hair, and that ridiculous grin has ruined him and he can never let you find out. He can’t deal with how smug you’re sure to be.
“W-well?” you say, hoarsely, struggling to get the words out, which is sort of devastating . He wants to hear it again. He stares dumbly for a moment before it clicks, the reason why you’re in here in the first place. It sounds stupid when he thinks about it. He hadn’t meant to challenge you; he says mean things, sometimes because he can be an asshole, and sometimes because he just loves riling you up.
He had meant to flirt with you, because his self-control gets shot around you. That's just one of the facts of his life: Shaw comes from a fucked up family, he’s got a lethal evol, and he wants to–very badly–fuck you until you’re both stupid, shaking messes.
And then, just a few drinks in, you had sucked on his fingers, gaze molten, and turned his world upside down.
He can’t really tell if it backfired this time. After all, it’s got your hands wrapped around him, pumping him steadily, damning you both. He wants to do this again, and again, his cock in your mouth and inside you if you let him. He barely got to kiss you for more than a few minutes before you pushed him up against the wall and dropped to your knees. He wants to run his hands all over you, drag his teeth along the delicate skin of your throat, grind against the centre of you with the desperate lust sparking through his blood. He wants to fuck every moment he gets, wants to see you shake as he strokes you to completion.
He can’t help coveting when it comes to you, and he’s sick with it.
Shaw wracks his brain, trying to think of something to say. All he manages is a breathy moan, clutching at your head when you drag the flat of your tongue up the side of his flushed cock, an encouraging warning.
“Yeah. I was wrong,” he murmurs. This is not a battle he can or even wants to win. Your lips quirk up, parting to take him in again. “ So fucking wrong. You gonna let me come, kitten?”
Please, he thinks. Please . I will give you anything you want, I’ll beg–
“Mm, maybe,” you laugh, eyes sliding shut as the wet heat of your mouth closes around his length. You’re no less, he thinks right before the ability to form thoughts slips through his grasp again. He knows, just as you do, that neither of you are going anywhere until you get a mouthful of his come and doom him to a life of craving you. One day, you’re going to find out how easily you can get him to beg, with just a flex of your wrist, and then it’s over for him.
He can’t wait.