#de volt

breaker boys breaker boys

Volt’s jealousy isn’t subtle. He’s a showman about everything, jealousy included. So when someone gets too close to you for comfort, he isn’t one to shy away from making a scene.

Like, for instance, when Jean Loo of all people is practically throwing himself at you. Volt watches from nearby as you hide your grin behind your hand and try not to snicker at whatever dumb thing the man is spouting now. He rolls his eyes and is ready to check on other patrons when he hears it: your laugh. Your snort laugh, to be specific. It’s an adorable treasure of a sound, one you hide far too often, and Volt cherishes every time he is lucky enough to hear it. But it’s different somehow, knowing that that fucking toilet of all people is causing it.

Before he can think any better of it, Volt is headed to where you and Jean are standing. He can tell by your jolt when he wraps his arms around your shoulders that you didn’t hear him coming. He plants an apologetic kiss atop your head for startling you and tugs you in close, your back to his chest.

“Live wire!” He says, loudly, his voice full with an air of declaration. “There you are! It’s been such a busy night, hasn’t it? I haven’t even had a chance to say hello.~” His words reveal none of his upset, but the tiny crackle in the air, the barely there static charge, gives him away to you; he can tell by the way you try to turn in his hold. His lovely little spark, always so caring, so ready to lend an ear. He smiles fondly at you as you quietly ask him what’s wrong. Rather than answer verbally, he gently takes your chin between his fingers, shifting your head to the side so he can kiss you. Hard. He licks at your lips, parting them with ease and kissing you deeply, ravenously. He can’t hold back a satisfied groan. You taste divine.

When he finally forces himself to pull away, you’re leaned even further into him, legs weak. He observes the dizzy look in your eyes, your panting, with pride. He leans in for one more kiss, this one much softer, an adoring peck. It’s only then that he bothers to give the man across from you the time of day.

“Jean Loo, my apologies! I didn’t see you there. I thought you’d left after your wonderful ‘performance!’” Jean’s too drunk to pick up on any sarcasm, but you are not, and Volt can tell by the way you huff against his neck that you’re going to scold him for that later. Once you can breathe again.

Eddie’s jealousy has a quiet, resigned energy to it. If you’re going to find something, someone better…good. He’s a mess. He’s still learning to be open with his feelings for you. Sometimes he worries he won’t ever be able to casually lean in and whisper words of affection the way you and Volt do, both to him and each other.

So, when you and Amir are chatting near the bar, Eddie can’t help but eavesdrop. Amir is a flatterer; he can say anything and everything that Eddie struggles to articulate. And he will, is the thing. He’ll happily say it all. Eddie can’t tell if the tightness in his chest is jealousy, worry, or maybe a miserable mix of both. 

In the middle of his stewing, he hears Amir call you something: “azizam.” He isn’t sure what it means, but the tone that takes over the other man’s voice when he says it is downright worshipful, so at the very least he knows it isn’t an insult. Nonetheless, Eddie looks up to make sure you’re alright with the word and– his grip tightens on the glass he’s holding. The one he saves specifically for your drinks. 

A pretty pink flush has appeared on your cheeks. It’s a light one, lighter than the ones he and Volt put on your face, but still. It’s there. So you know what the word means, and you like it. Eddie can’t help the jealous, insecure feeling swirling in his circuits. He sets your the glass back down and heads to the other side of the bar to take an order. He trusts you, he trusts you so deeply. But his mind tells him you deserve better, that you’ll find better; someone like Amir who can be open with his heart.

Eddie spares a glance to your side of the bar and sees you throw back your head in a laugh. Something about the sight gets him thinking, knocks him out of his wallowing. You love him. He loves you. You love each other as you are. It’s that simple. 

Taking a breath, Eddie grabs your special glass. 

“Hey, live wire!” He calls out, hoping you hear him over the din of bar sounds. You do, just like always. And just like always, you turn in search of him. When your eyes meet, Eddie watches your eyes light up, bright diamonds focused on him. A wide, overjoyed smile takes over your face. He has to catch his breath to speak again.

“Whiskey sour?” He asks, raising the glass so you can see it. 

But please look at how fucking GORGEOUS bestie @wisyhana drew Barry, Volt & Eddie. All for me too, fucking hell.

I'm spoiled as FUCK.

First of all, they’d be responsible, boundaries and rules would be set and consent would be well established.

BUT THEN.

You’ve been at the bar all night, watching the crowd, mingling a bit, all the while working up a buzz.

After close, the guys come to you, checking on you, giving you more drinks, maybe encouraging you to drink something a little stronger, maybe encouraging you to drink a little quicker.

It’s not long before you’re wasted, laying on your back naked on the bar, Eddie fucking you, your head tilted to give Volt the drunkest, hottest blowjob of his life.

They pause every now and then to make you take another sip, and then go back to ruining you.

They’d make sure you don’t remember what happened the next day, but it’s okay. The soreness all over your body and the bruises and bite marks are all the reminder you need.