Tobi makes a positively damning sound underneath him, painted nails digging into the back of Connor's neck as he arches his back, drags Connor in closer. Connor's skin is sticky with lip gloss where Tobi is dragging his mouth along Connor's collarbone, hints of teeth that send shocks of tingling pleasure-pain up Connor's spine.
Connor's big hands are pushed up under Tobi's dress, the material hooked on his wrists and shoved up around Tobi's hips, Tobi's legs curled around Connor's waist; only Connor's hold on him and the door against his back are keeping him from falling.
The lighting in the private room is low, but Connor can see the brightness in Tobi's eyes when Tobi leans in to bite at Connor's mouth, fake eyelashes so long that they're nearly brushing against Connor's face when Tobi's eyelids drop half closed. Connor groans, tips his head down to chase Tobi's mouth as Tobi's fingers push into Connor's hair, knocking the birthday tiara (Max’s idea, Connor's sure) askew. When Tobi bumps it with his hand, he grins against Connor's lips and snatches it off his head, leaning back and placing it on his own mass of dark, thick hair.
Connor feels a laugh bubble up in his throat, because Tobi looks a bit ridiculous, glitzy tiara shedding glitter in his hair, shimmering lip gloss smeared across his mouth, sweat making his eyeliner smear, and yet he's still the hottest thing Connor has ever seen.
“You're so fucking hot,” he murmurs, face flushing because he's not usually one for being so open, but Tobi laughs, cups Connor's face and kisses along his jaw, their stubble rasping together with a sound that makes Connor shiver.
“So are you,” and Connor flushes brighter, feels Tobi drag his nails under Connor's shirt along his shoulder blade, and suddenly, Connor is wearing too many clothes.
He presses Tobi harder against the wall, feels the way Tobi gasp-moans at the added pressure, and steadies him with a hand against Tobi's lower back as he struggles to pull his own shirt off one handed. Tobi, bless him, is a fast learner and slides his fingers underneath the hem of Connor's shirt, tugs it over Connor's head and immediately attaches his mouth to the exposed skin at Connor's shoulders and chest. Connor readjusts Tobi's weight, pushes his hands higher underneath Tobi's dress and stills when his fingertips happen upon soft silk.
Tobi laughs, feeling Connor stop, and pulls back to grin at Connor with dark eyes.
“Silk?” Connor rasps, eyes wide, and when he glances down, his fingers tighten on Tobi's slender hips, breath catching in his throat at the sight of dark red satin on smooth, tan skin.
“I don't fuck around,” with a look in his eyes that nearly makes Connor groan, fingertips digging into Tobi's skin so hard there's going to be bruises. Tobi runs his hands almost reverently over Connor's skin, tracing the lines of his lean muscles, the various bruises and scars that never quite go away. The touch is soft, and it makes Connor shiver, and suddenly he needs to see Tobi.
As if reading his mind, Tobi loosens his grip with his legs around Connor, hands circled loosely around the back of Connor's neck like he can't stop touching him, and murmurs, “Put me down.”
The second Tobi touches the floor he's kicking off his heels -- it occurs to Connor then that even in heels, Tobi's still at least a head shorter than him -- and pulling his dress off over his head in a fluid, practiced motion.
Tobi is much shorter than him and not that much broader, slender but not delicate, sharp cuts of hips and biceps and quads that make Connor's mouth go dry. Right in the middle of it all, packaged with a neat little bow like it's a goddamn present, is a pair of panties, clinging to Tobi's skin like they're painted on.
“Fuck,” Connor breathes, and when Tobi grins at him, reaching out with steady hands to loop his fingers through Connor's belt loops and pull him close, he teases, “Say please.”
Connor isn't even thinking, curling his fingertips underneath the elastic of Tobi's panties -- Jesus, panties -- when he swears, “Shit, Tobi, please--” and Tobi slides to his knees.
It's an image burned forever into Connor's mind, Tobi looking up at him with bright eyes and kiss swollen lips while clever fingers undo the fastenings on Connor's jeans, tugging them down his long legs and taking his pineapple underwear with them, which Tobi doesn't even raise an eyebrow at.
It's embarrassing how turned on Connor is, and he glances away from Tobi, who apparently doesn't take too kindly to that and nips at the inside of Connor's thigh, sucking a mark into the pale skin after. Connor shoots his gaze to Tobi, who smiles at him innocently, and then curls his hands at Connor's hips and leans in, curls his tongue around him, all wet and spit slick and fucking hot.
Connor makes the most embarrassing noise and slides his fingers into Tobi's hair, tightening in the thick strands when Tobi gets his hands into the mix, strong hands with long fingers and calluses on the palms that have Connor shaking, his nerves on fucking fire.
Time seems to fade away, and Connor can't say how long Tobi goes down on him -- way down, fuck, and Tobi swallows and Connor nearly shouts, thighs trembling with the strength of not thrusting up into Tobi's mouth. Tobi twists his head and Connor trails his fingers over the curve of Tobi's cheek where he can feel himself through the thin skin, and he feels the telltale tightening low in his gut, embarrassingly quick.
“Tobi-” is all the warning he can give before release is spiking through him, white hot and bright like a goddamn supernova, and Connor bites the inside of his lip so hard he nearly bleeds.
When he comes back to himself, Tobi is kissing him gently, hands combing through his hair, and Connor has enough presence of mind to make an aborted motion towards Tobi, stopped by Tobi's soft hand curling around his wrist.
“You don't need to,” Tobi murmurs, and Connor makes a questioning noise, feeling incredibly bad for not even thinking to take care of Tobi. It may be his birthday, but he's not a complete dick.
“I don't…” Tobi starts, fidgeting in the first show of discomfort Connor's seen on him, and it makes something in Connor's chest tighten unpleasantly at being the one to cause that. “I don't need it.”
It doesn't make sense to Connor, but he lets it drop, cups Tobi's cheek and whispers a soft, “okay,” into Tobi's mouth, feeling Tobi relax against him, even where he's pressed up practically on his toes to kiss Connor.
When they finally pull apart after a few minutes of easy, lazy kissing, aftershocks still sparking across Connor's skin where Tobi touches him, Tobi reluctantly reaches down and pulls his dress off the floor. Connor's heart jumps in his throat, fear making him stutter “w-wait,” because he can't just let Tobi go. Maybe other people can have a one night stand, sleep with someone and then never see them again, but Connor's never been that kind of person.
Tobi looks at him curiously and Connor… Connor takes in the softness of Tobi's eyes, the way he tips his head and his hair falls across his forehead, the smeared slick across his mouth, and Connor reaches out, rubs his thumb over the shininess on Tobi's skin.
“Can I…” Connor starts, sighs and shakes his head at himself, “I’m not very good at this,” he admits with a self deprecating half smile, and then continues, “I know this isn't normal or whatever, but I don't want to just, let you go? I’m sorry, that sounds so weird…”
Tobi just stares at him for a second, and Connor knows he's made a horrible mistake, feels himself flush with a stuttered, “Never mind, forget-” before he finds his breath stolen with a deep kiss.
“Not weird,” Tobi promises with a soft grin when he pulls back, slipping back just enough to tug his dress back on over his head; it's slightly crooked and ripped at the hem, and Connor helps Tobi straighten it, smiles when their fingers brush, “I’m keeping your tiara, by the way.”
Connor laughs softly, leans in for the softest kiss of the night, presses their foreheads together and murmurs, “It looks good on you.”
Tobi helps Connor get dressed, fingertips lingering on warm skin and short kisses shared between the reintroduction of clothes to skin. By the time they're finished, Connor is feeling the dread crawl back up his throat, and as Tobi slips back into his heels, he blurts, “Can I get your number?”
“Of course,” Tobi smiles without skipping a beat, holds his hand out and wiggles his fingers, “Give me your phone.”
Connor is so relieved he's nearly shaking as he digs his phone out of his pocket and hands it to Tobi, watching as Tobi takes the cutest selfie Connor's ever seen and typing in his number before handing it back, a knowing twinkle in his eye.
“Don't forget to text me,” he teases, walking with muted clicks on the carpet towards the door, and then stops, thinking. In a fluid motion, he steps out of his panties and tucks them into Connor's back pocket, grinning when Connor flushes.
“So you don't forget,” he explains, readjusting his -- Connor's -- tiara on his head and then slipping out of the door, leaving Connor standing in the middle of the room with silk panties in his pocket and a disbelieving look on his face.
What a birthday.