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“Completely empty,” Rob confirms, giving the mens’ only the most cursory of glances, but Charlie can’t bring himself to worry too much about hypothetical listeners-in as Rob drags him by his t-shirt into the nearest of the two toilets and locks the door.
The cramped space, furnished with clean but cracked tiles and an ineffectual bowl of potpourri behind the cistern, gives them no respite; they have no choice but to stand an inch apart, a distance still too far when Charlie’s been on edge just hinting about this – and considering the chances of it happening tonight, the possibilities if it did – all evening, all bloody small-talk-long evening in a different pub nearby with inferior company. Rob’s hand is still clutched around Charlie’s t-shirt.
Fidgety anyway, Charlie jumps slightly when he hears a noise outside the insubstantial door (someone coming in? Charlie wonders) but one look from Rob, eyes blown dark and flashing in warning, causes the potential interruption to slip his mind. Rob untwists his fingers from Charlie’s t-shirt with a sneer on his face, and yet Charlie stays pinned against the flimsy wall, still silent. And then Rob leans in closer.
“If you keep telling me of your impatience, Brooker,” he says in a low voice, “if you keep murmuring to me in public places about how, one day, you’ll haul me to the nearest grimy toilet you can have me up against but never quite have the balls to actually go through with said plan...”
“...you’ll make sure you get there first?”
“Precisely.” And then those long, full lips are finally on his, cruelly tentative at first until something in Charlie snaps – he remains pushed up against the stall but lets his tongue slide against Rob’s and now they’re kissing rough and promising. Rob tasting faintly of cigarettes
“OK. Perhaps I didn’t have the balls,” Charlie replies, desperate and embarrassed, as Rob breaks away and breathes hot against Charlie’s neck, eyes closed. “I know I kept saying it, but I needed you to...I could never quite...”
Again, Rob’s eyes flash, intriguing and dangerous. “I know what you needed,” he says, smirking. “I can always tell,” and Charlie tries not to think about for how long he might have known, how many other desperate, deviant sods like him Rob might have once picked out of obscurity and taken in hand.
Rob’s got so much to lose, Charlie thinks – David, marriage, self-respect (oh god, shouldn’t have thought of David first, if the thoughts don’t stop here when will they-) – but right here, in this moment, Rob’s shed it all for Charlie and Charlie can kid himself that Rob really does want him that much.
One of Rob’s hands in Charlie’s hair, they kiss again, Charlie scraping his teeth against Rob’s bottom lip as their hips align; frantic friction begins when they rut against each other. Rob reaches under Charlie’s t-shirt and, frustratingly gently, holds one of his taut nipples between two fingers.
Charlie groans out before he remembers where he is, choking down the rest of the sound when he does.
“Too loud,” Charlie manages to chastise, more to himself, before saying “Was he still there, when you left him?”
“Of course he is,” Rob replies, his words warm against Charlie’s neck again as he laughs fondly. “Left him at the table with his favourite sort of pint and the crossword. Bet you he won’t even notice I’ve gone.”
“Still,” Charlie says breathily, finding it harder to concentrate as Rob’s hand dithers around where their waists meet, searching for Charlie’s belt buckle, “we’d better make this quick.”
“I’ll decide how quick this is going to be,” Rob replies lazily, lips cruel, like he couldn’t care less if they weren’t doing this at all (his arousal somewhat belies him), and Charlie, hell, he can’t help it, Charlie shudders, fingers twitching against Rob’s pale back. His hands move from rucking up further the crumpled folds of Rob’s shirt to sliding southwards down Rob’s smooth skin.
“No, no,” Rob says simply. “Brooker. You don’t get to touch this time. Hold onto the top of the stall with your hands,” and Charlie does so, his eyes rolling skywards in pleasure. Because yes, no-one had done this for him in so long, no-one had shoved themselves on him and not let him do everything he needs to and been so brilliant Charlie barely has to think. And he knows he’s not giving back as good as he gets, but Rob doesn’t seem to mind, seems content to just see Charlie let himself be taken.
Charlie’s barely aware he’s spreading his legs further apart as he watches Rob unzip his flies, push down his boxers and rub his thumb over the head of Charlie’s cock. Charlie groans louder (“shh, shh,” Rob says, pushing two fingers against Charlie’s mouth to hold his tongue to silence; the knuckles of Charlie’s grasping hands turning whiter from the pressure and implied command). Then Rob’s touching himself right next to him, in this stupid too-small cubicle (Charlie can’t tear his eyes away, and Rob stares right at him as he breathes quiet but hard) before at last wrapping his grasp around the both of them, the friction making the curl of Charlie’s arousal burn even hotter.
“Don’t ever stop doing that, you...cunt,” Charlie pants pitifully, luminous with gratitude that he is not the one in this scenario that’s supposed to be in control. “You, you-”
“I’m the cunt?” Rob’s voice whispers, so menacing, vibrating across Charlie’s skin pitch-perfect. “I’m not the one who’s too scared to try for who he really wants.”
“Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about, ah-” and Charlie loses his thread again, his breath hitching and his cock throbbing deliciously, right next to Rob’s, the edge oh-so-close as Rob at last speeds up, his prerogative at last turning benevolent to Charlie’s aching arousal and a flush at last visibly rising in his own cheeks.
“Oh,” Rob drawls, and his voice sounds far away because Charlie’s coming, making Rob’s hand slicker, even faster, he’s clearly not far from the edge himself. But Charlie knows he’s got to keep on listening to that voice that’s telling him what to do, keeping him in line; Charlie knows he’s got to hold his gaze to those bright, blue, well-meaning eyes watching him fall. “Oh,” Rob says, “but I do.”
(In the next stall along, to every stifled sound, every snarled barb, every rattling thrust David listens, wide eyes set on ends of blunt fingers tightly gripping the dividing wall of the stalls, one hand guiltily pressed down hard over the tent in his trousers, the other holding down his tongue with two fingers to remind himself never to moan back.)