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Like a Dumpster on Fire

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Wyatt had found himself in more than a few compromising situations in his life.

Most of them, ironically, had involved Lucy. The car trunk, Hedy Lamar’s house, the time she literally stripped and fucked him in public at Woodstock.

This time, though, Lucy was doing some computer history programming thing with Jiya, and Flynn was the one causing the, uh, compromising.

If somebody came around the corner, they were screwed, and not in the fun way.

It really, really didn’t help that Flynn seemed incapable of shutting up, hadn’t shut up all day, leaning in to drip filth into Wyatt’s ear until Wyatt’s entire body burned with it.

“I want to put my mouth all over you,” he whispered at breakfast, right as Wyatt was taking a sip of coffee and causing Wyatt to nearly choke on his drink.

“I keep remembering how you felt underneath me last night,” was what he said at lunch, making Wyatt blush like a goddamn fire hydrant.

And then, when Wyatt was getting a glass of water later on, Flynn had leaned in and said, “I want to swallow you like that.”

Wyatt nearly spewed the water in a literal spit take. By the time he’d composed himself enough to whip around and glare at Flynn, the asshole was on the other side of the room, very innocently sitting and listening to Lucy wax poetic about Mary Pickford.

The final straw came when he was sitting at the table writing a report on their last mission—because apparently that was something they had to do now for the records which made no sense since they were off the grid and technically didn’t exist but anyway—and Flynn leaned over his shoulder, fucking ran his lips over the curve of Wyatt’s ear, and told him, “I think tonight I’m going to fuck you open until you can’t even speak to beg.”

That. That was it. That was fucking it. He just had to stand up and growl, “Follow me,” hoping nobody noticed (probably everyone noticed) and that if someone had they put it down to anger (which it was, dammit, just anger and… other things) and leading Flynn down the twisting hallways of this damn bunker until he could grab Flynn and demand that he please cut it out and shut the fuck up.

Flynn’s response had been, “But you don’t want me to shut up,” hence Wyatt’s current compromising position of being pinned to the wall while Flynn kissed the ever-loving fuck out of him and Wyatt rode Flynn’s thigh like he was being fucking paid for it.

“You’re so pretty like this,” Flynn mused, pulling away from Wyatt’s mouth so that he could turn his head and scrape his teeth along Wyatt’s jaw.

Wyatt was going to protest that he wasn’t pretty, no matter what Lucy and Flynn said, but then Flynn kept. Fucking. Talking.

“I could keep you like this all day, couldn’t I?” Flynn asked. Wyatt was really, really regretting ever admitting that he liked it when Flynn talked during sex. “It’s not enough for you to get off, really, is it, you need me to give you a little more don’t you, need me to fill you up the way that you like.”

Wyatt clamped down on the whine that threatened to emerge from the back of his throat and dug his fingers into Flynn’s hair, trying to drag his face back up so he could kiss him and prevent any more of those awful, wonderful words from falling out.

Flynn resisted, though, his hands going down in between them to undo their pants. “Don’t worry, I know what you want. I know exactly what you want, because you’re so eager to please, aren’t you, Wyatt? You like it when we tell you what to do, you like when somebody’s in charge, telling you to spread your legs and fucking take it.”

Wyatt tried to glare at him but that was a little hard to do when everything Flynn was saying made him, yes, all right, want to spread his legs and fucking beg for it.

Flynn slid his hand into Wyatt’s open pants, cupping him, forcing Wyatt to bite down hard on Flynn’s shoulder to stifle the noises spilling out of him. “Someday we’re going to get you somewhere you don’t have to be quiet, somewhere you can say all the things you want, beg all you want, and we’re both going to take you apart. We won’t have to clean up, won’t have to rush, we can just spread you out and take all the time it the world making you fall to pieces. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, us marking you up, getting you all messy, making you scream?”

Wyatt had a really smart remark, he did, but it kind of got lost in the helpless choking noise that emerged from the back of his throat.

Flynn just chuckled, kissing him again as he let Wyatt rut into his hand.

Anyone else, anyone in this entire world who tried to put him in this position, Wyatt would deck them (except Lucy, of course, but then Lucy would do it differently, with sweet soft words and pliant kisses and painted red nails). But for Flynn he’d bare his throat and whine and beg and show all the things he’d be ashamed and angered to show anyone else.

“Look at you,” Flynn murmured, running his mouth up the side of Wyatt’s neck, his breath hot and curling around Wyatt’s skin. “You know what it does to me, right? What it does to Lucy? Knowing you let us do this to you? You’d kill anyone else who tried, don’t think I don’t know that. And here you are begging me to take care of you.” He pressed a kiss to just underneath Wyatt’s jaw. “Want me to mess you up? Like a goddamn teenager, make it so you have to change, knowing you couldn’t wait another second, couldn’t wait until tonight, you wanted me to mess you up…”

Wyatt dug into Flynn’s back with his fingers, arched his hips, not caring at this point that Flynn totally had the upper hand, that he was right, Wyatt was a goddamn mess and he wanted Flynn to take him apart.

“Go on,” Flynn told him, and fuck, he was never going to admit it out loud, but it was ten times better when Flynn talked. “I want to see you, get you good and relaxed for later, when we’re going to give it to you, going to make you beg for it, take the edge off now so we can take our sweet time with you later, fuck you until you forget what your own name is.”

Fuck, fuck, Wyatt was just clinging to Flynn now, riding his hand, drowning in the goddamn sensations and Flynn’s filthy words. He wanted that, he wanted that so badly, wanted Flynn’s promises to become real, for Flynn and Lucy to tell him what to do and kiss him and fuck him into incoherence.

“That’s it,” Flynn growled, sliding his free hand behind Wyatt’s head, tucking Wyatt’s face into his neck so that Wyatt could bite down and muffle the noises spilling out of him. “Let go, Liebling, show me how much you want it, give it to me, make a goddamn mess of yourself—”

Wyatt jerked, feeling himself spilling over, biting down hard enough on Flynn’s neck that he was surprised he didn’t break the skin, whimpering as his knees buckled and he struggled to catch his breath.

“You’re making good on every single bit of that,” Wyatt panted.

“Wouldn’t dream of having it any other way,” Flynn assured him, kissing him and, finally, shutting up.