Title: So there's this guy...
Pairing: Clark/Brian (young tech guy)
Rating: Adult, NC-17
Length: 1841 words
Spoilers: 'missing' scene from SV 7x06, "Lara"
Warnings: slash, complete crack, just for fun
Disclaimer: Not mine, seriously. All belongs to Al & Miles, WB/CW and DC Comics.
Summary: Clark gets to the crystal first.
So there’s this guy, right? Hanging out at the bar, babes all over him, buying him drinks. Brian notices first thing since it’s happy hour and he and Tad are doing a table and no action in sight.
“Figures,” Tad says, tugging at the label of his Sam Adams. “Look at that. Hate it when the agency guys come trolling, all hot shit.” He mock-shouts, all whisper. “Leave some for the rest of us, dude!”
“You think he’s agency?” So Brian looks, you know, cause they’re talking about the guy. Way too hot to be agency. Cause aren’t they supposed to hire the average-looking guy who can blend in anywhere? This guy, he stands out. All dark hair and Hollywood. You know, one of the beautiful people.
“Damn straight. Ex-service or something. Air Force probably. Dude looks like he’s flown, you know? Pulled him for local, some shit like that.” Tad’s got the furrowed brow going, analyzing, Mr. Profiler. Cause that’s his job. CIA got him straight out of school. And they’re not supposed to talk about work or anything, but they do anyway. Like they’re going to tell anyone else. Seriously.
And Tad does the double-take, jaw dropping, and he’s laughing so that he chokes on his beer a little.
“Dude, you are so checking him out!”
Brian rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”
Tad leans forward, with the I-can-read-minds-ooooh-scary look on his face and says, “One of these days, you’re going to have to just open up that closet and let your inner bi out, know what I’m saying?”
So okay, yeah, he’s checking the guy out, but it’s not like he’s going to admit it or anything. Besides, it’s Tad who’s going on and on about him. Yeah, like a guy named Tad is going to lecture him on letting out the inner bi. Dude. For real. Come on.
But Tad just pulls back, checks out the rest of the club. Which is so dead, by the way. Happy hour, his ass. Just them and a couple of barflies. And all the chicks who aren’t are dogpiling each other to get to Mr. Hot Thing.
“You got the emo thing going on there, buddy. All floppy hair and glasses. But unless you’re looking for a whole new experience, I’d look the other way.”
“Cryptic, much? What the fuck?”
Tad leans in again. “Okay, one, if he even swings that way, that guy’s completely out of your league. And two, guys like that don’t get fucked, they fuck. Know what I mean? Just wait till the place fills up and go meet another nice emo boy, make out in the corner.”
Shit. Fear factor times eleven, and some of the tingle he gets from that should be all shrively oh fuck no, but there’s a tiny bit of yes maybe too. Could he just die now? Thanks. But he doesn’t keel over immediately so instead he says, “Who you calling emo?”
Tad smiles, takes a long swig. “It’s not a bad word, Brian.” And he gets this wistful look on his face. “Rites of Spring, remember them? Man, good times.”
He hates it when Tad does that, pulls the local boy card, knows the scene. “Before my time,” he says. And so he goes back to checking out the dude at the bar.
Who turns around. Fuck. And smiles. Double fuck.
“Busted,” Tad says, all whispery and laughing and know it all and Jesus, just shut the fuck up already. But he can’t say that because the dude is coming over. Coming. Over. To their table.
Guy pulls a chair around, straddles it, even makes the elbows, the beer dangling from his hand, look like he’d be just plain-ass comfortable anywhere, and he looks straight on at Brian. Just straight the fuck on. And Brian’s inner bi just crashes out of that closet and sings.
“Hey,” the guy says.
“Hey,” Brian says back, a little breathy. And could he be any more of a girl? “Hey,” he manages again, a little more manly this time.
Tad just sort of grunts.
So the guy looks at him. “You two together?” he says, tilting his bottle and that mouth. Oh my God.
Tad gets this startled look on his face. “Us? Oh fuck no.”
So the guy turns back to Brian, raises an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth, and he says, “You looking?”
Shit. He means was he checking him out and he’s busted so his inner bi grabs his head and shakes it slowly up and down.
And the guy just smiles wider, grins, and stands up, sets his bottle down. “Come on,” he says. “You’re driving.”
Brian’s so fucked because he stands up too, hand already in pocket, reaching for his keys. “See ya,” he says to Tad. And he’s out of there, following, before Tad can say a word.
So that’s how Brian ends up in his Cabrio. Yeah, Cabrio, what a girl-car, and there’s not even a gear shift for him to get manly with. Just an automatic with his hands ten-two position on the wheel.
“My place is just…” Brian starts to say.
“Not going to your place,” the guy says, seat pushed back, elbow on the door, looking out the window.
“Okay…” And there’s that fear factor again because maybe this guy has like a dungeon in his basement or something, of the not-fun kind, and there’s ten Hefty bags with Brian’s name on them.
But the guy turns, smiles, sex-on-a-stick, and maybe dungeons aren’t so bad.
“I’ve got a thing for the workplace, you know?” the guy says. “And I bet yours can be…exciting.” And he leans in a little bit. “Ever do it at work?”
Well, that would be a big fat no. One, because that’s just not professional. And two, Brian’s professional ethics have never been put to that test. Yeah, life sucks. “Dude, you want to go to my work? That…that’s just not possible. It’s a secured building.” He’s not giving anything away by saying that. Half the buildings in the greater D.C. area require clearance.
“Don’t worry about that,” the guy says. “I’ve got clearance.”
“Serious?” he says. And yeah, Tad was so right, this guy has to be agency. Each chance he can sneak a look at the guy, he can see it. So not your average Joe. Not your average anything. Oh Captain, my Captain. Okay, that was gay.
“I can get in pretty much anywhere,” the guy says. “Not a problem.”
And he’s right, because the night guy doesn’t even blink when Brian signs in at the desk. So they’re in the lab and the guy just looks around like he’s only mildly interested and way more interested in Brian.
“Hey,” the guy says, coming closer.
Brian’s sweating, which has got to be the not-sexiest thing ever. “I…I’ve never done this before,” he says. Complete goof, that’s him.
“Really?” The guy looks, don’t know, intrigued. “I’ll walk you through.”
“O…Okay,” Brian says, and he leans up. That mouth. Yes, please.
But the guy just grins, puts his hands on Brian’s shoulders, and shakes his head. “No kissing. This isn’t the prom.”
Can you say major disappointment? But Brian just nods.
“Turn around,” the guy says.
Oh no, what the fuck? Turn around? … guys like that don’t get fucked, they fuck. “Hey, I don’t…”
“Shhh, don’t be scared. It’ll be fun, I promise. Turn around.” Brian looks in his eyes, and wow, green, and it’s suddenly okay. He turns.
“That’s better.” And the guy’s touching him, soft little touches, nice. At least he can see his hands. He’s pulling him back a little so that the guy must be leaning against the center console.
“Um, that’s delicate equipment,” Brian says. “Be careful.” And he can’t say any more than that, because the guy’s breathing on his neck and his hands are at his waist, one of them moving down.
“You’re hard,” he says, whisper, and Brian can feel the grin just as much as that hand, which is freaking huge by the way, gripping.
“Uh…huh.” Yeah, smooth one there, Brian. And he’s humping it, humping. He’d be full-out embarrassed if he weren’t so turned on.
His belt unbuckles, his fly opens and oh wow, wow, wow. Dude hand on his dick. The guy lifts one of his massive palms up and says, “Lick.” And he does over and over, just guy and salt and oh God, he’s going to come soon just from this. That palm moves down, spit-slick, and moves. Yeah.
So maybe this is all it’s going to be and that’s okay. His bare ass rubs the guy’s thigh. But then the guy takes his other hand, just two fingers, and then says, “Suck.”
Suck? Oh crap, he’s going to get fucked. Fucked up the ass. The ass! And he should just run for it, seriously. Run… Yeah, like this guy is going to let him go anywhere; Brian’s practically sitting on his lap as it is. And the maybe yes tingle voice is chanting in his head, “Let it happen, let it happen, let it happen.”
He opens his mouth and sucks. Sucks, and he closes his eyes because he’s got a flash of himself kneeling on the floor and just sucking this guy off. And he wants it, wants it, and he sucks. The fingers move further in. And then out. And they’re gone.
Not for long because they’re moving on his crack now. And oh God, he’s going to get fucked. Going to get…the fingers pull away.
And there’s this whooshing sound that he hears for a minute, like something opening and closing. But it’s nothing like the ringing in his ears as he pumps this guy’s hand, leaning forward, exposing his ass, wanting the fingers back.
They’re back, and at his hole and right there, fingers yes oh God oh God oh God…
And Brian shoots all over that hand. The fingers don’t move any further, never go in. Is he going to stop? He’s still good, he can go, just push…
“We’re done,” the guy says. “See? I said it’d be fun.”
Brian tries to turn around, but he trips on his pants. The guy catches him before he hits the ground, pulls him back up.
“What about you?” Brian says. And it comes out kind of whiny, but hey, the guy’s holding him up by the arms. Great, now he’s got his own come on his shirt.
The guy smiles like Brian just did him this huge ass favor. “I’m good,” he says. “How about you? Got another shirt?”
“Locker room,” Brian says, free now, and struggling to pull up his pants, buckle clanking against the floor.
“You should get changed,” the guy says, by the door now. And maybe it’s because Brian just came really hard, but fuck, he looks beautiful.
“Uh, can I get your number?” Brian says, finishing with the belt.
He only looked down for a second, swear to God. The guy’s gone.