Work Text:
"Oh my fucking god."
Danny peered at Drew from behind his chicken sandwich.
Drew was gripping his phone too hard, eyebrows furrowed in frustration. His knee bounced. Impatient fingers picked at a plate of fries.
Danny returned his attention to his sandwich.
"Are you being serious right now? Because if this is just some big fucking joke, I swear to god you'll never see us again."
Jesus, what was he getting so worked up about? Drew's white-knuckled grip was crushing his emptied coffee cup, crumpling it until it couldn't possibly be any more physically compressed. If looks could kill, the person Drew was yelling at on the phone would've been six feet under.
"Fuck off, asshole! Your contributions mean nothing to me and the rest of the team. You're lucky you're even allowed to fucking participate!"
Danny nibbled at his bottom lip. All this yelling was making him feel anxious. And horny.
... Wait.
Whatever he felt in his brain was irrelevant, because his dick always thought for him. Every time Drew spat sharp, angry remarks into his phone, Danny felt an ache in his spine that spiraled straight down to his dick. He had the nasty thought that he never wanted Drew to stop yelling at whoever it was on the other end.
Unfortunately for Danny, it was then that Drew decided to hang up coldly so he could send furious emails to his other co-workers. No; Danny couldn't let this opportunity slip. He had to do something to revitalize Drew's rage. Relight the fire behind his eyes and feel the heat of his glare burn his skin.
Danny nudged Drew's foot.
"Not now, Danny," Drew said, irritated. His leg swung up and over the other. He didn't even bother to look up from his phone.
Danny hooked his foot under Drew's pant leg and slowly hiked it up.
"Stop it, idiot. I'm gonna get mad at you," Drew warned, shaking his leg free. Danny could see his shoulders tensing up as he angrily jabbed at his phone screen, coiling like a snake preparing to lash out at its next meal. He was so close to crossing the line. Just one more push and the glass would tip over.
Danny plucked Drew's phone out of his hands.
"What the fuck is your problem?!"
Drew's fists came crashing down on the little coffee shop table, bringing their food to the floor and attention to themselves. All eight people in the shop were staring at them in various displays of alarm.
"Shit," Drew muttered, clearing his throat. He glanced at the only employee in sight, a terrified cashier, and smiled toothily. "S-... Uh, sorry about that; here's, um..." He fished his pocket for change. "... Four dollars."
He smacked the coins on the table with another (terrifying) forced grin. Then Drew grabbed Danny by the wrist, rushed out of the store, and escaped into the safety of his car.
Once he slammed his door shut, Drew took a deep breath.
"Danny, wh-"
He never got to finish his sentence because Danny couldn't take it anymore. He reached over the center console, grabbed Drew's face in his hands, and smashed their lips together.
What was happening? Drew had no idea. His pupils shrank three sizes. For a moment, he sat there like he'd just been slapped. It took a second for him to come to his senses and shove Danny square in the chest. Danny flew back with a yelp, smacking his head on the passenger side window.
"Ouch," Danny said.
"What the fuck's gotten into you?" Drew said, still angry as ever. Although his mood had become more of a quiet, dangerous kind of angry, unpredictable and possibly violent, the dull throbbing between Danny's legs only outgrew the one in his head. The thought of Drew outmatching him in a game of dominance made a dirty kind of heat pool in his stomach. Oh god, what was he thinking? His gaze settled on the light glinting off of his pretty wedding band.
"I mean... I don't know what's wrong with me," Danny mumbled, palms settling in his lap. Drew could almost feel the shame himself.
"I just... You..."
Danny was at a loss for words. How could he ever come up with a valid excuse for what had just happened? His dick was still substituting for his brain, and it was telling him to shut up. Shut the fuck up and shove your tongue down his throat again. Imagine how much that would infuriate him.
So he did.
Danny forced himself into Drew's lap and kissed him once more. The difference between this time and the last was that Danny could feel Drew's dick against his own, and it was hard. Drew's wedding band was digging into his finger as a reminder of his broken vows but he didn't care because he liked it. He wanted to feel like a terrible piece of shit when Danny was unzipping Drew's pants like his life depended on it. Especially when Danny grabbed the lube he somehow knew was in the glove box and then rubbed it onto his leaking dick, massaging it so feverishly that Drew's hips jerked back in an attempt to escape the overstimulation.
"Fuck, slow down!" Drew hissed, trapping Danny's wrist in his grip hard enough to bruise it. Danny whined, freeing his own dick from the confines of his shorts to grind it against Drew's. Needy hands grabbed Danny's ass to drag him closer. Tears were prickling the corners of Danny's eyes. He wasn't sure if he had ever felt so much concentrated adrenaline in his entire life.
"You're so fucking hot when you're mad," Danny gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. Drew laughed humourlessly. Was that the cause of all of this? If he had known that cussing out his shitty co-worker would turn Danny into a horny, squirming mess, then he wouldn't have picked up his phone. Because there was no way either of them were going to recover from this. Or, more accurately, there was no way Drew was going to recover from this. There was no remorse in the way that Danny slipped his tongue past Drew's swollen lips and licked at his teeth. It was pretty clear that this meant a lot more to one than it did to the other.
Danny rutted his hips against Drew's, fisting their dicks together. Red settled in his cheeks and lips and fingertips. He pulled at Drew's short, spiky hair in a desperate attempt to keep himself grounded. The closer he got to coming, the less he could think about anything. With the final utterance of something that might've been Drew's name, Danny came all over his shirt, and every single thought he'd had that day vanished into thin air.
Of course Danny would only get himself off, Drew thought, rolling his eyes. He grabbed Danny's hand and fucked into it until he came, making sure his load ended up on Danny instead of himself.
Utterly spent and emotionally exhausted, Danny slumped forward in his seat, which happened to be Drew. Drew was in a similar state of being, except he was irritated enough to shove Danny off of him so he could stuff his dick back into his pants and sulk in peace.
"Never invite me out to lunch again," Drew muttered, starting his car. The truth was, humiliation was his lifeline. Maybe it was childhood trauma coming back to bite him in the ass. Whatever the case, he knew he'd fucked up, but his need to feel ashamed along with Danny taking advantage of his blinding anger had lead to him making one of the biggest mistakes he'd ever made in his entire life: admitting that Danny was fuckable.
Drew glanced at Danny.
Danny was melting into the passenger seat, smiling innocently, despite how not-innocent this entire fucked up situation was. And that was infuriating. His fingers, still covered in Drew's shame, toyed with his wedding band; on and off, and on and off, and...
Drew returned his attention to the road.