William and Dispatch, part 2
A smile in the dark.
The first time Andrew cums because of William Afton happens later that evening, after he’s tossed and turned and punched his pillow and decided fuck it, why not, it’s not like anyone’s ever going to know he jerked off thinking about his new employer’s mouth. So he shoves his hands beneath the waistband of his briefs and begins fucking his fist. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t blown a load in a few days or maybe it’s because that man, that fucking man with those lips and those eyes and that accent are haunting his thoughts more than they should, tearing a sound he doesn’t recognize from the back of his throat, high pitched and needy when he erupts a generous amount of seed. It’s good, too good and too fast but at least it’s taken the edge off. Maybe he’ll do it again in the morning in the shower before work. That should take care of it.
It doesn’t.
The next time he cums because of William Afton is in the back of his car. They’ve met up at some shitty rest stop somewhere late at night, the knowing smirk of greeting when the dispatcher yanks open the passenger door making him even harder than he’d been on the drive there.
To his surprise and momentary confusion the grinning man shakes his head. “In the back,” he clarifies, so that’s what Andrew does. He gets in the back seat of that sedan and William joins him, grabbing a handful of the button front shirt he’d worn to work at MCM that day and dragging him roughly towards his mouth.
That kiss tells him in an instant everything he might have suspected about the married business man—that this definitely isn’t the first time he’s been with someone of the same sex. He’s too confident, too adept at fitting their faces together, accommodating the wider jaws and more angular cheeks, all of those places that are so much rounder and more delicate on a female. He doesn’t hesitate to drive his tongue right between Andrew’s lips and he nearly panics because it’s almost pleasurable enough to make him cum untouched. He’s that fucking good.
William’s got his pants open in record time, a little hum of appreciation vibrating against his new employee’s lips as his fingers curl around his cock, longer than his own but just as smooth, hands that have never know hard physical labor, his engineering skills better served in creating mock-ups on paper and directing others to create their realties, like that poor sap Edwin Murray is doing right now.
He doesn’t expect that sinful mouth to suddenly abandon his and shift lower, for it to engulf his cock and suck, hard, the breath knocked sharply from his lungs, one hand fisting in Afton’s silky mane while the other shoves against the roof of the car. He really, really wishes he had a cigarette in his mouth right then, a piece of hard candy, anything to keep his tongue occupied, but the other man seems to have anticipated this need as well, one thumb shoved between his lips for him to lap at.
It’s almost better than the blowjob he’s receiving—and make no mistake, Andrew is ranking this one as the best he’s ever had from any male or female ever, the man is absurdly talented—sucking on William’s thumb, then shifting to his palm, the inside of his wrist, the skin there hot and thin with his pulse bounding beneath it. The man bent over his lap groans and a fresh wave of saliva coats his cock, slurped up and spit back out over and over.
Now he’s caught in a kind of endless loop of almost but not quite climaxing, teetering on the edge until William’s thumb smooths over the wedge of his bottom lip, the gesture so oddly tender contrasting with that obscene, wet ritual happening below that it’s just what he needs to finally spill. William swallows every ounce of that release. He can feel it, the movement of his throat as he swallows, the pressure of his tongue holding his cock against the roof of his mouth while he drains him dry, even going so far as to lap the crown after to make sure he’s really gotten it all.
He watches as the man drags the back of his shirtsleeve across his mouth as he straightens—covered in his own saliva, it really had been quite damp and messy—that smug little smirk of his back again. The seat creaks as he leans back to regard the dispatcher.
Andrew wonders what he’s told his wife as an excuse for being out so late—if he simply cites business and leaves it at that. He wonders if she suspects or if she’s long accustomed to it. He’s almost bold enough to inquire about his business partner, to verify if the rumors are true, but he thinks that’s a shade too far, even if he had just shot a load down Afton’s gullet.
He’s not entirely sure what etiquette requires here—if he’s expected to return the exact same favor or not. But his new boss spares him the trouble of not knowing, guiding his hand over what’s a considerable bulge in his trousers. He feels somewhat clumsy as he fumbles the man’s fly open, but he’s rewarded with a pretty little hiss of air between teeth as soon as he touches his cock, finding him leaking and practically scalding. He experiments briefly, testing to see what William seems to like best: a roll of fingers over the head to smooth the precum over; a thumb stroking over the frenulum beneath; an alteration between a tight and loose grip; shorter and longer strokes. He doesn’t think it really matters much, judging by the amount of squirming and seat creaking. He leans over to kiss the man’s throat, inhaling aftershave and cologne, feeling a slight rasp of new hair growth against his tongue.
He really likes the sounds William is making, helpless ones not so unlike the one he’d made that first night he’d busted thinking about him in bed. So it all feels like it’s come quite literally full circle as Afton suddenly tenses, grasping his wrist and shuddering, his cock spitting out an impressive batch of sperm as well.
Andrew lets the man recover, digging the cigarette he’s been craving out of his pocket and offering one to William, who accepts, leaning over to crank one of the fogged windows down. Brilliant idea. He does the same on his side, lighting his cigarette, jolting a bit when Afton leans sharply towards him, but he simply utilizes the ignited end to light his own, then reclines back, taking a drag and smirking.
“You know,” he says, quite casually, as if he has not just been choking on dick and having his fondled by the man seated beside him, his voice just a touch raspier than it normally is, “there’s a new technician I’ve recruited recently that I think you might enjoy working with.” He doesn’t immediately elaborate, merely aiming smoke towards the open window.
“Oh?” He doesn’t know what else to say. Is Afton implying he’s gay or bi? Is this someone William’s also had in the backseat of his car?
“Puts in long hours. Does a good job. A bit whiny at times, but at the end of the day we get the work out of him. He seems to respond better to male dispatchers with smooth voices. I think he’d appreciate yours.” An odd way to go about a compliment, but, you know. This is William Afton we’re talking about here.
He suddenly shoves at the door and exits the car, leaving Andrew to hastily mirror his movements once he’s done up his pants again.
“What’s his name?” Andrew glances across the roof of the car at the cofounder of Fazbear Entertainment.
“Arnold. Goes by Arnie. Forget his last name. It’s not important, anyway. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” William tugs the cigarette from his lips, flashing another grin before settling back behind the wheel. The engine awakens and the tires dig into the gravel, kicking up some dust and pebbles before finding their grip, the car once again navigating a path back onto the road. Well. That was that, then. Don’t call me, I’ll call you, probably. Maybe. Was this going to be a regular thing now? A random event? Fuck.
Andrew nudges at the grooves of the tire track left by Afton’s car, burning a little more nicotine and tobacco before he gets in his vehicle and drives home.
part 2 yayyyy
