Work Text:
“Hey, um... Batter!” Zacharie’s voice calls from a floor up, forcing said character’s attention away from an empty filing cabinet and toward the stairs. “I, uh, may or may not have gotten myself into a little... predicament, haha! Ha... I mean, don’t worry, I made sure nothing was sharp, and it seems like it can hold my weight pretty well, so that’s good... I guess.”
So The Batter takes the stairs, slightly confused at those unclear words, but as expressionless and bland as he does just about everything, and keeps up that act the entire time he’s listening to his nearing voice, trying to pin down where exactly he is on the giant, otherwise lifeless grey floor.
But when he does find him, he raises an entire brow.
“Batter? I thought I could hear you, but I can’t see you, so... where are you?”
Staring at the puffed-out hem of a thick, white cotton sweater, a heart of black in the middle of it, all squeezed into a small hole in shatter-proof indoor glass, The Batter responds evenly, “Behind you.”
“Behind... me?” Zacharie mutters, and The Batter can see through the spider web of broken glass like a kaleidoscope, a masked face—still worn for “fun” occasionally—turn the small amount it can to confirm it.
“Oh,” the merchant smiles, just barely noticeable through the ruined display, “I see. That makes sense. I did manage to unlock the door, though,” he wiggles the knob of the lone, similarly clear office door to the isolated room in the centre of the building, “so if you wanna just come around and push or pull me through—either way should do it, I’m not that stuck—that would be fine with me!”
“Can I not do it from this side?”
“W-well, I guess you might, but, uh, that’d be a little embarrassing to me—more than it already is, haha. So, uh, if you just wanna open the door and see what’s inside and maybe help a man out of his stupid self-inflicted shame, that’d be more than wonderful, Batter!” Zacharie’s grin is audible in his voice, matching the mask in front of it.
“I don’t know,” the other man sighs behind him. “I kind of feel like I shouldn’t let you go so easily. Like that would be a reward for your bad behaviour, when really, you should’ve learned to not wander off without me and somehow get yourself in situations like these where, had I not been there, you might really have died, or something.”
“Batter!” Zacharie groans, “come on, man! I’m not a cat, you can’t just bop me on the nose and expect me to learn! Trust me, I understand what I did was dumb. And I won’t do it again. Or at least, I’ll try really hard not to, but that doesn’t matter! What matters is that really, truly, you need to get me out of here, and fast, sweetie!”
“ ‘Sweetie’? Oh, trying that, huh? Well, that does it, then.”
“Wha-” Zacharie starts, ultimately the most confused he’s been in quite some time.
But he figures it out pretty quickly, as he feels his pants being shoved down to his thighs.
“Hey!” he cries out, trying to kick behind him, but finding it’s rather hard as The Batter just continues to pull them down, along with his shoes, all the way off to a little pile on the floor, so innocuous but also such an indicator of all the awful things that were about to be done to him in just a minute.
“Batter!” Zacharie’s voice goes high, whining, “Hey, I didn’t say you could do anything like this! I want out, not, w-whatever you’re thinking!”
“You really don’t want to do it?” The Batter asks, Zacharie surprised to look toward the source of his voice to find him popping his humourless face out of the door—a very humorous scene—which he had apparently opened while Zacharie was panicking. “I mean, that would be a first. I thought you would be more interested in me starting something, but if you don’t want to, that’s fine.”
Zacharie makes the mistake of thinking about it, going limp from his struggling for a second. He turns his body, in vain, ultimately, but he can still feel it. How The Batter’s lean body is able to peer out of the door at the same time his hand reaches back, idling upon his bare hip, the thin perimeter of the glass wall, door so close to his small body, making such a thing possible.
And as he forms an idea in his overly-curious, perverted mind, he feels his dick twitch to life partially hidden in the thick fabric of his soft sweater.
Oh, yeah, that was definitely a fucking mistake.
But it’s too late now. Turned on and blushing, it’s obvious to both of him, exactly what he’s thinking.
“O... okay,” Zacharie sighs, at the same time The Batter flashes one of his rare grins. “But make it real quick! And know I’m only doing this because I’ve never been fucked in a wall, and I will try anything at least once, unless it kills me... Ugh, what did I get myself into..?”
The all-white smile is already gone by the time he steps away, walking to his bag which he’d dropped in the pile of Zacharie’s clothes, rummaging through it for something.
“What are you doing now? I thought you were just going to, like, I don’t know, maybe finger me while sticking your dick in my mouth, o-or something like that,” Zacharie prattles off quickly, trying to make it seem like a random thought rather than the exact thing that had gotten him so hot and bothered in the first place. It fails, of course.
“Oh,” The Batter exclaims, smooth steps of his shoes on the linoleum floor all the way up to him, Zacharie swallowing before it chokes into a gasp at the feeling of a familiar, wet cool between his legs, “I hadn’t thought about doing two things at once, to be honest. But that’s a good idea. I’ll take it.”
“N-n-oh, yes!” Zacharie moans, unable to keep up his superficial protests when a rough, thick finger forces itself inside of him.
Already mostly ready from riding his cock just this morning—was his favourite way to wake The Batter up, actually, other than maybe some pancakes, if they could find them—it’s a quick task to open the little merchant right up, one finger becoming two and naturally to three, all scissoring, pushing and thrusting and stretching his hole. He takes special care to stroke his digits on the lower wall of his insides to make Zacharie curl his spine just like a cat, prostate stimulation making his entire body flash with white-hot heat.
Already turned on from being in such a humiliating position as being penetrated from behind by another man, the feeling is that much more intensified from the restriction of doing so through a public office wall.
Not only would it be an even more forbidden place to do this, if only there were still any workers left to occupy the building—but his utter inability to move, to twist or turn his body at all to even see what it is, genuinely, truly stuck in a trap of his own making, it makes him moan louder than he already would be as three fingers fuck into him one last time, finally leaving him only then to catch his breath, pulling his mask up and off his ears and falling softly to the floor to help in the effort.
But even though his entire body tenses at the feeling of something unusually cold and foreign at his most sensitive entrance, it still arouses him. How, even if he wanted to, he can’t pull or push himself through the dull-edged glass hole, can do little but kick his legs uselessly and risk pushing his chest down further, making him dangle like a lifeless doll already more than he is.
He couldn’t run away even if he wanted to. That shouldn’t make his cock leak nearly as much as it does, exposed face blush somehow even redder and hotter until it’s at fever-like levels, but here we are.
And here we are, as at the same time that foreign objected begins to be inserted into his gaping hole with nothing he can do to stop it at all, the sight of a certain very familiar body part comes into view, before rapidly disappearing as it inserts itself into his mouth open in a gasp.
He chokes on air, finding it hard to breathe as his head is filled with the dual sensations of being penetrated fro mbehind with what he quickly gathers must be a sex toy—most likely that dildo they’d found in yet another abandoned building yesterday—and having his mouth quickly being ravaged by a thick, veiny cock.
His mouth is filled with the salty bitter of The Batter’s cum, who expertly uses both hands and his hips—just like any good sportsman would—one turning around the short edge of the door to thrust the toy in and out of his ass, the other pulling lightly through Zacharie’s pitch hair to gag him further on his cock.
Zacharie can’t speak, probably wouldn’t be able to other than delirious moans even if his mouth wasn’t filed with cock, but The Batter can tell by the vibrations around his length, the few licks and bucks of his hips he can manage, that Zacharie does, indeed, like this.
Even if it’s quite uncomfortable, to be stuck in a wall, taking two cocks—one false and one warm and real down his throat—so much different from a bed or a couch or something much more vanilla and mundane, he finds that, for whatever reason, he really does like it.
The Batter doesn’t hold back, knowing from past experiences that Zacharie would like nothing more than to be rendered silent and useless on his cock being shoved all the way to his balls in his throat. He looks down through his own eyes slitted in intense, mind-numbing pleasure to see Zacharie’s squeezed shut in overstimulation, tears reflecting wet and pretty on the black of his lashes.
It’s an awkward angle, and it hurts to keep his arm up for so long, the other now bracing him against the wall as he just pistons his cock in and out, so The Batter decides, gritting his teeth, that he would make good on that plead that Zacharie had asked for. Making it rather quick, that is.
And knowing it probably isn’t all that comfortable to be stuck in a wall, either, he angles the long dildo down and rubs it hard on where he knows without sight to be Zacharie’s prostate. He’s sure he’s getting it nice and good, as not only does he feel the slut grind his hips back like he was trying desperately to claw his way out to get more of it, but his upper body reacts, too.
He rakes his nails against the white wall of the inner office, making long, cat-like marks in the paint as he spreads his legs further on the other side. Moans around the cock using his mouth like the feminine version of the toy inside him: a fleshlight, of course, and nothing more than that.
He drools even more when The Batter’s other hand slides down past his feathery hair, over his Adam’s apple distending slightly with each hard thrust in, and into the neckline of his over-sized sweater, fingers made wet by his own spit feeling wonderfully cool on his hard nipples.
And both at all that stimulation as well as the mere situation, all so utterly bizarre and bewildering, like nothing he has ever, or probably will ever experience again, Zacharie cums in a muffled cry around the cocks still thrusting inside of him, dirtying the inside of his sweater with stripes of white semen.
But then he’s forced to face the true reality of being stuck in a wall.
He can do literally nothing as his orgasm washes over him, from tip to toe, consuming him entirely. The stimulation was already more than his brain could handle, but as he climaxes, it becomes nearly unbearable.
But it’s only as his cock goes limp between his legs, and the two larger ones still don’t stop their assaults on the two holes of his body, that it really becomes torture.
Whine and cry and struggle as he might, he’s truly stuck, not allowing him to go anywhere as The Batter sadistically gets his own pleasure not only in his tight, moaning mouth, but in the ability to do whatever he wants, knowing Zacharie can do absolutely nothing.
Soon enough, though, it’s all over. The Batter ejaculates a thick, hot load right down his throat, Zacharie not even able to swallow it, it goes so deep. But he feels it, all the shots of pure, warm seed, filling his guts with something more than just the cock still crammed up his ass and all in his mouth.
The Batter pulls out his rapidly softening cock, flicking his wrist and tossing the used dildo somewhere onto the boring white floor, utterly exhausted.
But he still has a duty to do.
So, still with a semi-hard erection dangling from his striped pants, he grabs Zacharie’s shoulders, and pushes.
He figures it would be easier that way, rather than having to struggle with getting his legs through the hole.
And sure enough, he’s right, the small noirette going right through the just-barely-Zacharie-sized-hole, and right onto his ass.
The Batter rushes through the door to check on him, worried he might have hurt him during the fall, but comes to a stop right above a blissfully-smiling male, drool still coating his mouth, naked from the waist down but crotch hidden beneath the thick of his shirt, cum still leaking between his milky thighs.
He looks almost gorgeous enough that The Batter’s cock gives an interested twitch, but he knows that he’s no longer the spritely young man he used to be... not really, he doesn’t age.
But he tucks himself back in his pants either way, and begins to pull Zacharie up.
“N-no, no,” Zacharie mewls, swatting his hand away as he lays fully back on the floor. “I just wanna... lay here, for a little nap, if that’s alright with you.”
The Batter squints a little. Surely one of the padded office chairs inside would be better than the crumpled heap of his own pants?
But simultaneously, he understands. Lying in a puddle of a mixture of warm cum, ass aching in just the most delightful way as his hole gapes with how hard he was just fucked, he looks strangely at peace.
The Batter kneels down, carding his fingers through his dark hair as he lays his little white mask on his chest.
And by the time he leans to press a kiss to Zacharie’s mouth, he’s already asleep.
The Batter chuckles to himself in the quiet of the building, looking down at the silly, silly old merchant. Thinking back to everything they’d done, all of it blending together, but also sticking out in unforgettable events.
Truly, there was no one he’d rather be stuck with in all of eternity, trying to figure out how to spend his time.
Because, well, it might get boring now and then, but fun like this? Be it in stupid jokes, kinky sex, adorable dreams of building their own home together to finally have somewhere to truly settle down? Worth every decade.
But then he huffs, rising to his feet as he turns back to the now-unlocked office.
Play first, work later, he supposes, and walks in to see if there’s anything worth taking from the many unchecked drawers.