#e.blockwars

feinberg says goodbye to the interviewers, to his team, and lingers on the server to take a look at the leaderboard one more time. One more glance at the disgusting performance he put up. Before he can log out, a familiar hand lands on his shoulder, and it’s the face of a man whose team he’s just put in a firm second place.

fulham congratulates him at first, because he’s not about to be an asshole just yet. feinberg gleams beneath the praise, only barely pretending to be humble under the familiar presence.

and then his hand grabs for his waist, and another on his shoulder pushes him against the wall. fulham is still smiling, and fein too stunned and confused to quip back and before he knows it fulham has a knee between his thighs and a firm grip on his hair. His voice is painfully british, as it always is, and almost still out of breath. “It’s so fucking annoying playing with you, bro.”

It’s the afterglow of victory that makes him like this. “Yeah? Fuck are you gonna do about it?”

“Nah, shut up, Fein. This isn’t construction anymore.”

He has the decency not to try and remove the layers of fabric between them while they’re still on the server, even if it’s nearly empty now. Fulham’s knee grinds up against his cock, sudden and without warning, and Fein lets out a strangled moan that he scoffs at. There’s a moment where Fein thinks it’ll turn out to be a silly little prank, which shatters immediately when Fulham grinds up harder.

he melts into it, almost going limp. “No, this is embarrassing, dude. You gotta stop acting like a goddamn bitch in heat for once.”

“Fuck off, sore loser,” he whines back.

“Ohhhh, so you can jerk off in your sad little hand?”

Thankfully— or maybe unfortunately— Fulham doesn’t need to do much more. Admittedly, Fein had already been pathetically hard for a while, could you blame him? it doesn’t take much longer before the front of his pants are sticky with his release, his cock twitching against Fulham’s knee.