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I'm Not Calling You a Liar

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Most days, Raleigh has himself checked in place. After all, control over one-self is mandatory, especially when said person is a pilot, or used to be a pilot, of a Jaeger.

Emotion does not control him; it is the other way around. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is neither acceptable nor taken into consideration, no matter how good a pilot is. The latter is what caused him to be dropped out of the program and not the former, Raleigh knows that. Everyone knows that.

Which is why, for the life of him, Raleigh cannot comprehend – does not want to comprehend – how in the bloody hell a single banter, hostile as it always is when it comes to, leads to him fucking the seven hells out of Chuck fucking Hansen in the middle of an isolated hallway with nothing except the many turns of the corridor, also pure fucking luck, between them and the others from finding out.

Raleigh usually has more control over himself than this, he swears, truly he does.

"Bloody, shit, fuck," Chuck is saying, over and over again under his breath. Muffled by the way he sinks his teeth into Raleigh's shoulder, not enough to break the skin yet hard enough to send him closer to the edge. Hips thrusting brutally, far rougher than he ever does into the tight slick warmth of Chuck's body, hitting his knees against the cold steely wall in the process.

Chuck's desperate groan is music in his ears. Raleigh isn't quite sure what possesses him to do this, but he knows that it feels good and he wants to hear more of what Chuck has to offer, wants to hear him moan and beg, shameless and free and passionate like the cocky-arse pilot he is every time the camera corners him.

So he lifts Chuck's legs forcefully around his waist, takes pleasure from the hitched breaths and strong arms wrapped around his neck, and chants his hips forward rough as he can. As expected, Chuck practically screams into the crook of his neck, clenching around Raleigh's cock like he's made for it while his own, trapped between their bellies, leaves trails of pre-cum all over their clothes.

Raleigh drops his head on Chuck's shoulder and bites at the skin he finds there, nibbling, marking it red, getting him to make one of those wonderful breathy noises as he fucks himself on Raleigh's cock, already begging yet not quite. He makes a frustrated noise when Raleigh goes slow, he goes very slow, the drag of his bare cock against Chuck's heated skin maddening, applies to both parties.

"Come on, old man," he groans, rough and husky, the sound going straight south. "You did promise to make me come twice – is this all you've got?"

It's a challenge and Raleigh is old enough not to be baited by such childish words, but Chuck seems to bring the worst in him, always manages to grab the old hot-headed Raleigh out of the shell and pull, and he does so now with Raleigh's hair; tugging and pulling and turning Raleigh into a sweaty panting mess as he fucks hard and deep, harder and deeper, into Chuck's welcoming body.

"To be fair," Raleigh manages to grit out. "I said a lot of things before I decided you need to shut the fuck up." He gets his hands lower to where they are connected, gropes and squeezes at the flesh of Chuck's admittedly fantastic backside, listening to the choked-off mewl that escapes those beautiful split-bloody lips.

"Does that mean you won't be able to fulfill your promises then?" Chuck snickers, through a moan and a whimper, and Raleigh grins all teeth as his cock jabs against Chuck's prostate and the boy shouts and hits his head on the wall and bares his neck for Raleigh to mark with.

"Wanna find out?" Raleigh asks him, challenges him, and makes do to fulfill his promise.

-

Later, as Raleigh is fixing himself a good meal, Dr. Geiszler comes up to their table and shoves something into Raleigh's pocket. Raleigh turns to him, blinking.

Dr. Geiszler shoots him a dazzling smile. "Next time you guys want to, uh, satisfy your thirst, please do it somewhere without cameras around. Like your bedroom, preferably. The mattress isn't all that bad." He leaves not before clapping Raleigh's injured shoulder cheerfully.

Raleigh takes the item out of his pocket.

It's the bottle of oil they've used – an hour prior –

Raleigh shoves it back into his pocket in haste, flushing, and assures Mako that no, he doesn't have a fever, it's alright, there's no need to alert the medical unit on the second floor.