It starts with Ray, oddly enough. A couple of beers in, he starts going on and on about how you’re not really whole until you’re able to find your real purpose, to which Wrench immediately adds, “And your prostate!”
They’d been drinking, yeah, but, to be fair, that doesn’t really make that much of a difference when it comes to Wrench. Whatever features that mask of his has, a filter is not among them. And Marcus laughed, then, mostly at the way Ray stared at the other hacker — not really offended, just stunned into silence.
At that, Wrench nonchalantly shrugged, said, “Hey, I’m just saying, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” and that should have been the end of it. But.
They had been drinking. That, at least, is what Marcus will be telling himself later when he tries to explain just how he ended up mostly naked in Wrench’s garage sprawled on the hood of a car which Wrench swears is definitely not going to give him tetanus with one of Wrench’s very long, surprisingly gentle and amazingly talented fingers sliding slowly but surely into his ass.
Marcus has an arm thrown over his eyes and he’s biting his lips raw trying not to make any sounds — because that would be weird. The finger slides out just as slowly as it first slid in and then spreads more lube around his entrance, teasing the rim just a bit before entering him again and Marcus swears he can feel every single bony knuckle gradually opening him up.
“Does it hurt?” Wrench asks. He’s being very quiet, very careful, which is so fucking weird because Wrench is chaos and explosions, right, he’s angry and sharp and an absolute dork and he’s also Marcus’s best friend and every stroke of that single finger makes Marcus’s cock throb and dribble more slick onto the increasingly wet mess on his lower stomach.
Marcus feels almost uncomfortable at how turned on he is, but the thrill of being laid bare like this under the other hacker is so much bigger than his embarrassment. His shirt is still on, sort of, bunched high up to his ribs, but his pants and boxers and socks are nowhere to be seen. Marcus can’t see Wrench’s eyes behind the mask, but he feels his gaze like a physical touch. It doesn’t bother him. He rather likes it, in fact.
“M?” Wrench stops moving and Marcus realizes he’s been asked a question.
“No, it…” Marcus licks his dry lips and tries to swallow around the lump lodged in his throat. He’s never felt like this before, what the fuck? Even though he wants to, even though he’s painfully hard, he doesn’t reach for his cock because he’s not really sure he’s allowed to, the lines all blurred now — what is the appropriate social protocol when your best friend is fingering you stupid? He groans. “Shit, it feels good. Is that-?”
“No, not yet, I haven’t found-” Wrench starts to say and then he brushes against something that makes Marcus arch up with a gasp, eyes wide and shocked. “There.” The way Wrench says the single syllable makes it sound filthy, like praise and challenge and Marcus is not above begging at this point, heat pooling and threatening to spill between his legs, but he doesn’t need to because Wrench is pressing into that spot again, pad of his finger teasing it, slow and steady as Marcus moans and pants and proceeds to make an absolute mess of himself.
Wrench happens to really, really like messes, however. The messier, the better. And, at the present moment, he can’t believe his fucking luck, because Marcus is just about the hottest thing he’s ever touched in his life including that one time he tried to disassemble a toaster that may or may not have been plugged in.
It’s almost Wrench’s undoing, really, how incredibly responsive Marcus is. Oh, Marcus is a sight to behold, is what he is, leaking all over himself, thick thighs shaking, parted like an invitation. The way he tightens around Wrench’s finger when he pulls it out and parts for him when he pushes back in, the way he can’t seem to hold still and, god, his voice… Wrench might never be able to hold a dialogue with the guy ever again now that he knows what Marcus sounds like when he’s turned on.
Wrench’s been painfully hard inside his jeans for what feels like hours, now, pressing against the zipper and, shit, probably ruining his underwear with slick, but this isn’t about Wrench. No. This is about Marcus and, more importantly, Marcus’s prostate. Wrench is breathing hard, though, the mask that normally represents safety and comfort almost suffocating as he leans closer, nearly climbing next to Marcus, and asks, “Do you want one more, M?”
“Fuck, yes,” Marcus immediately replies, rolling his hips in time with Wrench’s hand. Wrench pulls out to get more lube and Marcus huffs an impatient, “Come on, man.”
A second finger is a tight fit and Marcus hisses through the burn and rolls his head against the metal under him but doesn’t really pull away at all. He’s wondering, right then, if this is how he’ll come, with Wrench’s touch sparking electricity right under his skin and nothing but air grazing his neglected erection. Marcus glances down and he’s not sure if he meets Wrench’s eyes through the mask or not, but the anarchist is shaking his head, panting behind the mask with an apologetic, “Shit, sorry, I have to-” and reaching for his own jeans with his free hand.
Wrench gasps a sigh of relief as he gets his pants open. He doesn’t pull his cock out or anything, just readjusts himself, his hard-on tenting his boxers. Marcus kind of wants to see it, though. More than that, he wants to touch it and finds himself wondering, you know. Wrench’s fingers feel so good, what would his cock feel like?
Wrench palms himself slowly, fingers of his other hand building a steady rhythm as they spear into Marcus’s body, and Marcus groans, “Holy shit.” He knows he’s staring, but he can’t help it, that’s his best friend’s dick and it is hard probably because of him, because Wrench is finger-fucking his ass. Then Wrench’s fingers press just right and Marcus closes his eyes and stops thinking at all. “Don’t stop,” he gasps and does his best to hold on as heat coils and builds inside him.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” is Wrench’s amused response.
Marcus almost doesn’t recognize Wrench’s voice without the modulator. The spot Wrench is massaging seems to be directly connected to his dick, punching these almost pained sounds out of him, and Marcus can’t be blamed for being a little slow to understand the reason why Wrench sounds like that.
When he does, however, his eyes snap back open in shock.
And, okay, Marcus hasn’t been exactly silent so far, but when he meets the blue of Wrench’s eyes, he has to slap a hand over his mouth to try and contain the devastated cry that crawls up his chest. “Sorry if I made it weird,” Wrench says, unmasked, with a one-shouldered shrug. Marcus wants to punch the anarchist’s uncertainty in its metaphorical face. “Hard to breath.”
“Oh, you have absolutely… gone and made it weird, now,” Marcus replies, sarcastic but not unkindly. There’s no amount of weird that would make him want to stop this. He’s pretty sure Wrench could start singing the national anthem while hopping on one foot any minute now and he would just roll with it at this point. He presses his palms against the hood of the car for purchase as he rolls his hips, hissing, “Shit, right there… I’m so fucking close, man, I can’t… Oh, I can’t fucking believe it.”
“Go on, you can touch it,” Wrench encourages and something like an electric shock runs through Marcus’s body at… Jesus, the sound of his voice. Fuck that modulator, seriously, this is what Wrench should sound like all the time.
Marcus’s never been one to take orders well, though, authority issues and whatnot, and although he would probably do anything Wrench asked him in that tone, when he moves, slow and uncoordinated, he doesn’t reach for himself.
Wrench lets out this surprised, hurt little whimper and his cock jumps at the first brush of Marcus’ fingers through the fabric of his boxers. He almost stops breathing altogether as Marcus reaches inside and pulls it out, his grasp loose and investigative and just enough to make Wrench lose his rhythm just a bit.
“Shit, M,” Wrench groans and Marcus tries to concentrate on touching him, stroking him up and down, up and down, but his coordination is not at its best right now. It hardly seems to matter, though. Wrench is warm and velvet-smooth, hard and getting impossibly harder as Marcus tightens his fingers around him. When Wrench twists his fingers inside Marcus, Marcus flicks his thumb across the wetness at the head of the anarchist’s cock and Wrench moans, “God, your hand feels so good.”
“Shit, I need-” Marcus starts, but he’s not sure how to ask for what he wants. He feels very naked when Wrench leans closer.
“What? What do you need?”
“I need to come,” he blurts out. It’s the only thing he’s sure of. He wonders if this is what losing your mind feels like, burning from the inside, pleasure escalating out of control, burning so bright and somehow still not enough. “Ah, Wrench? Do you-?”
Is that- shit, that’s another finger and Marcus is spreading his legs a bit further, trying to relax, to breathe through the unbelievable pressure. It doesn’t hurt, not really, but it is so intense, like he’s being skinned raw. Wrench is not looking at his face anymore. He’s looking down, now, down at where three of his fingers are now almost completely buried inside Marcus, his free hand around his own cock because apparently Marcus has forgotten about reciprocating, how rude of him.
Marcus looks at him for a long moment, takes a deep breath and tries again, “Do you… wanna?”
Wrench looks up, uncertain and hopeful all at once.
“There’s a lot of things I want right now, dude, you’re gonna have to be more specific,” he offers with the filthiest little smirk. Marcus lets himself fall back down and glares at the ceiling. Wrench is going to make him say it, isn’t he?
Marcus lets out a huff of a laugh and decides to go for it despite how hot his face feels, how heavy and full his heart is. “You wanna try and… put it in?”
“You-?” he stutters. Marcus waits a second longer and when he looks at the other hacker, Wrench’s eyes are lit up like Marcus just announced Christmas is coming early — or whatever equals Christmas for Wrench. Probably blowing up banks. “Seriously? Shit. Ok. Uuuh… give me a minute.”
And then he’s gone, fingers and heated gaze and Marcus laughs at the dirty ceiling, at the empty, electric feeling between his legs, at the giddy anticipation that comes over him. He takes his shirt off the rest of the way and rests on his elbows to watch as Wrench frantically rummages through drawers and boxes, cock still half out of his jeans and face flushed a bright pink.
A minute or so later, Wrench exclaims, “Yes! I knew I had one stashed somewhere!” while waving a condom over his head.
Marcus grins to himself, lies back down and tries not to think about what a potentially horrible decision he’s about to make, but a second later Wrench is slapping the foil package down on the hood, climbing on top of him and then, just like that, they’re kissing.
Before Marcus can realize how absurd it is that they almost skipped kissing in order to go straight to fucking, he notices what a fucking sweet kisser Wrench is. The first press between their lips, almost chaste, holds so much affection Marcus thinks his heart is going to explode. He makes an effort to kiss back while grinning like a maniac and pushing Wrench’s vest and sweatshirt off, because it’s not fair that he’s the only one with his ass hanging out. Wrench is as helpful as ever, which is not a lot, but they manage. Wrench’s jeans never make it completely off his legs because as their cocks rub together neither of them has the patience do get them off properly, but it’s enough.
It’s more than enough, it’s awesome. Almost too awesome and they should really get moving, Marcus thinks, or things will be over very soon. He reaches for the condom with one hand, then, for Wrench’s dick with the other and Wrench asks, “You sure, M?”
“Not at all,” Marcus replies very honestly. He uses his teeth to tear the foil open and then slides the condom over Wrench’s length with nothing but bravado to back him up. Now that they’re actually here, he’s suddenly aware of how, well, big Wrench happens to be. He’s not humongous or anything, probably not going into the porn industry any time soon, but he’s so much bigger than a couple of fingers and Marcus had never really had anything up there before tonight. He’s a bit intimidated, to say the least, so when Wrench retrieves the lube from the pocket of his jeans, Marcus tries to distract himself from the enormity of what they’re about to do by asking, “How come you had lube handy but had to tear through half the garage looking for condoms?”
It’s really remarkable how unimpressed Wrench manages to look while trying to line his lubed-up cock to Marcus’s entrance. “Really, dude? That’s what you want to know?” Marcus feels the pressure of the latex-covered dick against his hole, but it’s just that: pressure. Wrench doesn’t try to shove his way in or anything, so Marcus tries to relax, tries to allow it to happen as Wrench goes on, “I happen to use lube a lot more often than condoms, ok?” It’s Marcus’s turn to give him the stink eye and Wrench elaborates, “Because I never get laid, M, come on, do the math, you’re supposed to be the smart one here.”
And that tone is more familiar. Marcus’s chuckle turns into a wince as Wrench slides in the first inch. He grabs onto Wrench’s shoulders, fingers digging, and asks, “I think it’s safe to say our friendship is ruined forever, right?”
Wrench presses a kiss to Marcus’s cheek and Marcus can feel his smile as he replies, “Oh, I never liked you that much anyway.”
Even though Wrench is holding as still as possible, it burns and almost hurts. Marcus still wraps a leg around Wrench’s hip and doesn’t let him pull away, though, while pointing out, “You’re a terrible liar.”
“And yet…” It is slow — so very, very slow. Wrench gives Marcus all the time he needs to get used to it, moving just slightly, canting his hips, adjusting their angle. “You love me anyway,” Wrench states and there. That’s what he was looking for.
“Yeah,” Marcus groans and pulls Wrench into another kiss. As they start moving together, trying to find a rhythm that works, he repeats it, “Yeah. Yeah,” because of course he loves Wrench, but also, yeah, right there. “You can move faster,” he says and Wrench nods.
For such a dramatic person, Wrench is unusually quiet as he fucks Marcus. He’s so focused on reading the other hacker, getting it just right, making him feel good. Marcus can barely keep his eyes open as Wrench’s cock strokes along his prostate on every other thrust, he almost misses the satisfied little grin on the anarchist’s flushed face.
Wrench moves to rest his weigh on an elbow and takes Marcus’s cock in his hand as he begins snapping his hips forward fast and dirty. Under their combined weight, the car groans and protests. Marcus is just as noisy as the vehicle underneath him, helplessly crying out, overwhelmed by pleasure he never thought was possible. He is so full, sensation sparking throughout his body, sharp and catastrophic, he can do very little but hold on for dear life.
Wrench is right there with Marcus, to say the least. Can hardly believe he’s gotten the chance of having this, having Marcus and even if Marcus decides that his curiosity is sated and he doesn’t want to repeat the experience… Well, that would suck, right, no one likes having their heart broken, but even if that happens, Wrench will treasure this moment for the rest of his probably not very long life, how he can feel how close Marcus is in the way his entire body tenses, muscles tightening around Wrench’s cock, his voice becoming just a bit deeper.
Wrench quickens his strokes and barely a dozen thrusts later, Marcus starts coming, eyes fluttering closed and hands unable to find purchase as they slide across the sweaty skin of Wrench’s back. The sounds he makes are almost pained as his come splashes against their stomachs. Wrench watches him like he’s witnessing a miracle, touches and soothes Marcus through the aftershocks and then he has to kiss those lips, wet and slack in the aftermath of his climax. It’s almost better than sex, having Marcus breathlessly trying to kiss him back, tongue sliding against Wrench’s, his mouth wet and hot.
Wrench is too close, though, and very soon he has to pull away from the kiss to bury his face into Marcus’s neck as he chases his own pleasure. He thrusts in a wild rhythm, his broken moans and the sound of their skin slapping together echoing through the garage. Marcus pulls back just enough, just in time to catch the instant Wrench’s face goes lax, pink lips parted in a cry of pleasure as he comes hard and long. Marcus brushes the blond strands of his hair away from his sweaty face and holds him until Wrench stops shuddering.
Breathing hard and grinning in disbelief, they look at each other in the aftermath. Marcus doesn’t really want to let go of Wrench, it just feels so right to hold like this, to have him as close as humanly possible, but he reluctantly does so and Wrench tumbles to the side with a satisfied little sigh. Marcus can’t help but stare at the length of the anarchist’s body — the slim but solid frame of him, his shitty tattoos, the used condom hanging precariously from his slowly softening cock — and think, yes, love sounds just about right.
Wrench glances back at Marcus and lets out a hoarse and slow, “Duuude.”
Marcus grins and echoes the sentiment, “Duude.” His limbs feel strange and his ass feels even stranger, but he’s also happier than he’s been in a very long time. They’re too sweaty to cuddle, but Wrench reaches for Marcus anyway, wraps an arm around his middle, and that’s enough.
“Just so you know,” Wrench starts and Marcus raises an eyebrow, bracing for whatever it is the other hacker has in store now. “You just ticked, like, five different fantasies off my bucket list.”
“Oh, really?” Marcus moves to lie on his side and mirrors the grasp Wrench has around him by wrapping his own arm around the other’s waist and pulling him closer until he can almost reach his lips. He goes for the cheesy come-hither bedroom eyes when he says, “What else you got on that list of yours?” but it works way too well if the heat that flares in Wrench’s gaze is anything to go by.
With a cheeky smile and a waggle of eyebrows, Wrench replies, “Give me a few minutes.”