Rev It Up!

You press your hand to his cheek in reassurance, gasping as his cock throbs hard against your far too sensitive folds, the head of it millimetres from popping inside. "Why?"

"You should not allow me to do this," he breathes, leaning into your touch like it's the only thing anchoring him to the world.

"I want this," you reassure softly, "but we can stop if you need to."

He shakes his head, long hair brushing against your temple. "I do not deserve this," he hisses, chest heaving, deep breaths forcing it to press against your body. His hips pulse slightly, pushing his tip just barely inside.

"You do," you whisper. "You deserve it more than anyone else." You drag your nails lightly down his back, from shoulder to his sharply curving waist. He writhes, back arching with a soft gasp. You tilt your hips, holding him so he can't pull away and pressing upwards, slowly starting to push him inside.

He groans and you can feel the tension in his posture, the shudder in his hips. He drops his weight onto his arms, blanketing you with heat and the softness of his skin. "You do not understand."

"I want to," you whisper against full lips, kissing him, biting at the bottom one and pulling at his waist, trying to show how much you want him.

"I do not deserve the space you allow me inside of you," he groans, finally rocking his hips forward.

You whine, nails digging into his skin, pulling him closer until he's seated as deep as he can be.

"I can feel you stretch around me," he groans, breathing rough, body weight pressing down against you. "Why do you allow me to change you?"

"It feels good when you fill me," you whisper, rocking your hips. "It feels good afterwards, when I miss you, but my body still remembers. I wish I could change you in the same way."

He whines, body pressing even closer to you, weight pushing you into the mattress. He pulls his hips back and you dig your nails into his waist, trying to leave marks you hope he'll be able to feel later as you desperately try to keep him close.

He shudders in your arms, hips bucking, cock jumping, stretching you impossibly further. "I don't deserve this," he groans by your ear, completely breathless. "But I just cannot stop."

Vincent feels good, head a bit floaty, body loose and the usual drum of negatives thoughts at the back of his mind somewhat muted. Relaxing, quiet music plays in the background, it's classically orchestral but Vincent can't really focus on it. There are too many people chatting, an indecipherable humming that drowns out everything else. Usually, Vincent would feel a little bit anxious around this many people, but he's mostly been left alone in his own corner of the room, and Reeve keeps taking the time to catch Vincent's eye to give him a soft, reassuring smile.

Reeve has been busy the whole night of course, because this is a WRO function and he's the most important attendee. He has been constantly accosted by different people, attention pulled in so many different directions, but he's still taking the time to check in with Vincent and it makes his chest feel warm.

Vincent feels out of place here and it's strange. He used to belong in this world, comfortable with high flying rich people, expensive suits and security. But now the collar of his own suit is too tight and itchy, irritating where his hair is tied back at the nape of his neck. He's trying to ignore it, to ignore the discomfort for his partner.

It might just be the alcohol or just how fucking good Reeve looks in his new, properly tailored suit, but there's a fog of arousal starting to cloud Vincent's mind, building to what soon might be an actual physical reaction with each sip of champagne. He wonders if Reeve is similarly affected. He doubts it, Reeve is used to these sorts of functions after all, but he can still hope.

Vincent stops paying attention to this surrounds, a rookie mistake at a function like this. His mind too focused on thoughts of the heat of Reeve's body pressed against his and the rasp of stubble against his throat, that he doesn't notice Reeve seeking out his gaze until the man is suddenly beside him, the soft scent of his cologne clouding Vincent's senses.

"Is everything alright, Vincent?" Reeve asks carefully. His voice is calm and measured like always but Vincent can pick up the hint of concern in his tone. Reeve reaches his hand out halfway towards Vincent's body but stops, holding back. Vincent recognises the gesture. He thinks that Vincent is overwhelmed and might not want to be touched. The thought makes Vincent's hollow heart squeeze even though there is no possible scenario where he doesn't want this man's touch.

Vincent nods in response but can immediately tell that Reeve sees right through him.

"How about we find somewhere a bit quieter?" Reeve smiles softly, still not reaching for Vincent, hovering his hand just above his back to lead him.

Vincent doesn't know the etiquette here and he's frustrated by it. All he wants to do is reach out and take Reeve's hand. He's not ashamed of their relationship and he knows Reeve isn't either. But this is an important function, and such an open display of affection could be construed as unprofessional, especially considering how important Reeve is. So Vincent does nothing and allows himself to be lead, wanting and missing human contact.

"It was getting a little bit too loud for me too," Reeve says sheepishly after leading Vincent through into a small meeting room and shutting the door behind them, drowning out most of the outside noise.

Vincent smiles softly and looks at Reeve, already lost in the care and devotion in the man's eyes. He's overcome with emotion — the alcohol probably to blame. Vincent's eyes trace the sharp curve of Reeve's jaw, and the freshly and immaculately groomed stubble of his beard, and finds that he just can't resist. Vincent kisses Reeve, bruisingly, pressing far too close like an eager teenager. He carefully pushes Reeve back against the door, protecting the back of his head with his arm as he hits the wood with a solid thud.

Reeve tastes like champagne and strawberries, sweet and fizzy and addicting. Vincent's head spins from the proximity. Reeve reacts quickly, kissing back, hand finding the back of Vincent's neck, holding him close and Vincent melts into the touch of rough stubble against his jaw.

Reeve is breathing heavily when Vincent pulls away, cheeks slightly flushed. Vincent darts his face to Reeve's neck, inhaling sharply at his skin, drawing his natural scent and cologne deep into lungs to fan his arousal. Vincent needs to make Reeve feel good. Right now. He can't wait until later.

Vincent drops to his knees, hitting the floor with a loud thud that isn't painful. He finds his prize immediately, nuzzling his cheek against the crotch of Reeve's pants in reverence. The material is soft and silky, far too thick for him to be able to feel what's underneath but Vincent doesn't care.

"Vincent?" Reeve asks with a slight confusion, out of breath, looking down at him.

"I want to make you feel good," Vincent groans, hand moving to Reeve's fly, just to make his intention perfectly clear. "I need it."

"But we're in—Vince—This is—," Reeve stammers, reaching down to press his palm against Vincent's face, cupping his cheek.

Vincent leans into the warmth of the touch, allowing it to wash over him.

"People will realise I'm missing," Reeve continues, brushing his thumb across Vincent's jaw.

Vincent's breathing shudders involuntarily, the fog of champagne and arousal amplifying his reaction to the touch.

"Oh fuck it," Reeve finishes, making up his mind. "But we need to be quick."

Vincent starts working on Reeve's fly immediately, pulling the expensive fabric apart to reveal boxers covered with a bright pattern of ridiculous dancing cactaurs. Reeve always dresses like this, with ridiculous underclothes, as his own way of rebelling against how put together and professional he needs to be at all times. Vincent has grown to love it even though the busy patterns obscure the visual of his cock.

Reeve isn't hard yet but Vincent doesn't care, licking over the outline in the fabric while the man above him shudders. Vincent wants to spend longer worshipping him, but knows that they just don't have the time. He gives one more laving lick of the head of Reeve's cock, enjoying the rasp of fabric against his tongue before pulling soft skin through the slit at the front.

Vincent doesn't waste time, sliding Reeve all the way into his mouth quickly. He's not quite hard enough yet to reach the back of Vincent's throat. Reeve's cock pulses against Vincent's lips, growing harder and longer with each rough throb. Reeve groans, hand tightening in Vincent's hair, pulling it from his ponytail. Vincent doesn't give a shit. Reeve bites down on the back of his hand to muffle his sounds as his hips start to carefully thrust into Vincent's mouth.

Vincent sinks down further, pressing his lips to coarse, dark hair, enjoying the feel of it against his skin because Vincent no longer has body hair anywhere and he misses it. He rubs Reeve's cock with his tongue, teasing the throbbing vein as its growth forces his lips slightly apart.

Vincent tastes salt on the back of his tongue, so increases his pace, hollowing out his cheeks as the head of Reeve's cock begins to sink into his throat. He relaxes into the sensation, allowing the intrusion to ground him. He no longer has a gag reflex and it feels good to give pleasure, to get lost in the mutual satisfaction of being with a person you care about deeply. He inhales Reeve's scent and presses his lips to the warmth of his skin. Reeve holds Vincent's hair, supporting him, encouraging him as Reeve's hips thrust slightly, pushing himself deeper.

Vincent bobs his head and moves his tongue, spreading saliva everywhere. Reeve's hand starts pulling at his hair, pleasure pricking at Vincent's scalp. Vincent groans around the cock in his mouth as his own starts to rise uncomfortably against his tailored paints. He pushes his hips into the sensation, grinding against air and rubbing against fabric, fanning his own arousal and using it as motivation to slide Reeve further down his throat.

Vincent doesn't need to pull back at all, he has no gag reflex and no immediate need to breathe. He's good at this, at using the broken parts of his body to give pleasure and allows himself to fall into it, allows the fog of arousal and champagne to take hold in his mind. He notes every single one of Reeve's reactions, each hitch of breath and pulse of his hips, wanting to commit them to his never ending memory.

"Vincent," Reeve moans breathlessly, hips pushing against Vincent's lips, trying to get him to pick up the pace.

Vincent hums in response and Reeve grunts as the vibrations wash over his cock. Reeve's breathing shudders and Vincent starts moving back and forth, fucking Reeve's cock into his throat. He wants to take his time and lave his tongue lovingly over the heat in his mouth, but knows he needs to be fast.

Vincent picks up the pace, swallowing and pressing harder with his tongue as Reeve's breath starts hitching rhythmically and his hands tighten in Vincent's hair.

"Vincent, Vince, Oh," Reeve moans.

Vincent knows that means he's close.

Vincent knows that he needs to not make a mess but finds himself pulling back slightly anyway. He wants to taste Reeve on his tongue instead of having him slide wastefully and tastelessly straight down his throat. Sticky salt immediately begins to coat the back of Vincent's tongue and he shudders, hips bucking until he regains his control. Vincent hollows his cheeks and purses his lips as Reeve whines, legs beginning to shake.

Vincent reaches out to grip at Reeve's hips, supporting him upright as his breathing crescendos and his hips tilt, spilling between Vincent's lips with a muffled, desperate groan.

Vincent swallows everything, enjoying the taste, allowing each rough spurt to quench his thirst. Reeve holds him close, fingers tight in Vincent's hair, gripping on for dear life as he sags back against the door, sated and shaking. Vincent pulls away with a deep pop and uses his tongue to lick up any mess remaining on Reeve's shaft as he whines with oversensitivity.

Reeve slides down the door, pants still open and cock still wet and out as he pulls Vincent closer and into a punishing kiss. Vincent shivers, groaning against Reeve's lips. Vincent wants to kiss him harder, undress him, lie underneath him while their bodies press together and their breathing mingles together. Cushion Reeve's hard body with his own on the rough carpet of his meeting room and lose himself to sensation, but it's not to be as someone calls Reeve's name loudly from outside the door.

"Fuck," Reeve hisses, pulling back from Vincent, head thudding back against the door.

Vincent helps him stand, knees now a little bit sore from kneeling on the hard floor, but he doesn't care. He tucks Reeve back into his silly underwear and pants tenderly, ensuring he's presentable enough to go outside.

"Will you be alright?" Reeve asks softly, gesturing downwards to the somewhat subtle bulge at Vincent's crotch as he gently leans up to fix Vincent's hair.

Vincent moans, exhaling deeply at the touch of strong, warm hands at the back of his neck, carefully pulling his wild hair back into some semblance of order. He nods, happy to have some more champagne, to nurse his arousal until later, to allow it to build to a crescendo that will feel so fucking good when it's eventually unleashed.