Work Text:
The art class was winding down, the prisoners scattered across tables with half-finished sketches and smudged charcoal fingers. Bison sat at the back, his eyes never leaving Kant, the so-called ‘art teacher’ who’d been visiting for three weeks now, courtesy of a police chief who owed Kant a very large favor.
Today had been torture. Every brush of Kant’s hand as he corrected Bison’s shading. Every accidental press of thigh against thigh when he leaned over to demonstrate a technique. The way Kant’s voice dropped low when he whispered instructions, his breath hot against Bison’s ear. They’d been playing this game for weeks, stolen touches, lingering glances, hands brushing under tables until both were hard and aching and desperate.
Bison couldn’t take it anymore. He raised his hand, catching Kant’s eye. “Permission to use the bathroom, teacher.”
Kant’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He knew that look. “Granted. Don’t take too long.”
Bison stood slowly, adjusting his prison-issue pants to hide the obvious bulge straining against the fabric. He walked out of the classroom with measured steps, his heart hammering. The hallway was empty, the guards stationed at the far end, bored and half-asleep. Bison rounded the corner toward the bathrooms, but instead of entering, he slipped into the narrow storage closet adjacent to it, a tiny space filled mops, buckets, and cleaning supplies. The door clicked shut behind him, plunging him into darkness.
He waited. Three minutes later, footsteps approached. A soft knock, two quick, one slow, the signal they’d agreed on. Bison cracked the door open. Kant stood there, eyes dark with hunger, a clipboard in his hand as a prop.
“Need to get art supplies from storage,” Kant said loudly, just in case anyone was listening. He slipped inside the closet before Bison could reply.
The door closed. The lock clicked. And then Kant had Bison pushed against the wall, his mouth crashing down on his with bruising force.
The kiss was desperate, all teeth and tongue and months of pent-up longing. Kant’s hands fisted in Bison’s prison shirt, yanking the fabric up, needing skin. Bison moaned into the kiss, his back hitting the concrete wall hard, but he didn’t care. He wrapped his arms around Kant’s neck, pulling him closer, deeper, tasting the coffee he’d had during the break.
“I’ve been dying,” Bison gasped against Kant’s lips. “Every time you touch me in there, I can’t fucking think.”
“Me too.” Kant’s voice was ragged, his hands already working at Bison’s belt. “I’ve been hard since the moment I walked in. Watching you sit there, looking so good, knowing I can’t have you…”
“Have me now.” Bison’s hands found Kant’s waist, pulling him tight. “Fuck me now. Against this wall. I don’t care.”
Kant didn’t need further encouragement. He dropped to his knees, yanking Bison’s pants and boxers down to his ankles. Bison’s cock sprang free, already slick with pre-cum, the tip glistening in the dim light filtering under the door. Kant took him into his mouth immediately, no hesitation, swallowing him to the root.
Bison’s head fell back against the wall, a guttural moan tearing from his throat. “Fuck…Kant…”
Kant worked him with practiced skill, his tongue swirling around the head, his hand stroking the base. He took him deep, then deeper still, until his nose pressed against Bison’s pubic bone. The sounds were obscene, wet, slurping, the rhythm of a man starved.
“Shit,” Bison whimpered, his fingers threading into Kant’s hair. “I’m gonna…if you keep doing that…”
Kant pulled off with a wet pop. “Not yet.” He stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I want to fuck you first.”
Bison’s breath hitched. “Yes. Please.”
Kant turned him around, pressing his chest flat against the wall. The concrete was cold through his thin shirt, but the heat between them made it irrelevant. Kant spread Bison’s ass cheeks with both hands, exposing his hole. It was pink, tight, twitching with anticipation.
“Look at you,” Kant whispered, his voice low and dark. “So beautiful. So ready for me.”
“Been ready for weeks,” Bison shot back, his voice shaking. “Every night in my cell, I think about this. About your cock inside me.”
Kant groaned, fumbling in his pocket for the small tube of lube he’d smuggled in. He coated his fingers generously, then pressed one against Bison’s entrance. The muscle resisted, then yielded, pulling him in.
“Yes,” Bison hissed. “More.”
A second finger joined the first, stretching, scissoring, preparing him. Kant worked his fingers in and out, curling them, searching for that spot. When he found it, a small, spongy bump inside, Bison cried out, his knees buckling. “Right there…fuck…right there…”
Kant added a third finger, stretching him wide, his other hand gripping Bison’s hip to hold him steady. “You’re so tight. So perfect. I’m going to fill you up, baby.”
“Please,” Bison begged. “I need your cock. Now.”
Kant pulled his fingers out slowly, dragging them across Bison’s rim, making him shiver. He unzipped his own pants, freeing his cock, thick, hard, the head purple with need. He lined himself up, pressing the tip against Bison’s stretched hole, teasing.
“Tell me you want it,” Kant demanded, his voice rough, almost cruel.
“I want it,” Bison said, desperation dripping from every word. “I want your cock. I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk. I want…”
Kant thrust forward, sheathing himself to the hilt in one brutal motion. Bison’s scream was cut off by Kant’s hand clamping over his mouth.
“Shh, shh, shh,” Kant whispered against his ear, his hips still buried deep. “We have to be quiet, baby. Someone will hear.”
Bison nodded frantically, his eyes wide, tears pricking at the corners from the overwhelming fullness. Kant removed his hand slowly, replacing it with his mouth, kissing the side of Bison’s face, his jaw, his neck.
“So good,” Bison breathed, his voice a broken whisper. “You feel so good.”
Kant began to move, his hips rolling in slow, deep thrusts. Each one pushed Bison harder against the wall, the friction electric, the heat unbearable. The closet was small, the air thick with dust and the smell of bleach and sex. Every sound was amplified, the slick slide of skin, the wet suction of Kant pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in.
“Faster,” Bison begged, his forehead pressed against the concrete. “Fuck me, don't stop. Please.”
Kant increased the pace, his hands gripping Bison’s hips so hard they would bruise. The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the tiny space, obscene and rhythmic. Bison’s moans became a continuous stream of broken syllables, “Yes, fuck, oh god, right there”, each one swallowed by the urgency of their need.
He craned his neck, turning as much as he could, and caught Kant’s lips in a messy, sideways kiss. Their teeth clashed, tongues tangled, saliva slicking their chins. Bison’s hand shot up, fingers twisting into Kant’s hair, gripping tight, pulling him closer, deeper into the kiss while Kant kept fucking him from behind.
His other hand reached back, searching blindly, and found Kant’s ass. He grabbed a handful of his cheek, squeezing hard, pulling Kant deeper into each thrust, making the angle sharper, the penetration more intense. Kant groaned into the kiss, breaking it only to gasp for air.
“I’ve missed this so much,” Kant grunted, his voice strained with exertion and emotion. “Three weeks of watching you, touching you, not being able to have you. It’s been torture.”
“I know,” Bison gasped. “Every night, I jerk off thinking about your hands on me. Your mouth. Your cock.”
“You’re mine.” Kant punctuated each word with a deep, punishing thrust. “Every inch of you. Every moan. Every drop of cum.”
“Yours,” Bison agreed, his voice breaking. “Only yours.”
Kant’s rhythm became erratic, his control slipping. He reached around, wrapping his hand around Bison’s cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. Bison was close, so close, his entire body trembling like a live wire.
“Come for me,” Kant whispered, his lips pressed to Bison’s ear. “I’ve got you.”
“Fuck…Kant…” Bison’s orgasm hit him like a freight train. He cried out, a raw, primal sound that echoed off the walls, as his cum shot across the concrete, splattering in thick white streaks. His body clenched around Kant’s cock, milking him, pulling him deeper.
Kant followed an instant later, burying his face in Bison’s shoulder to muffle his groan as he emptied himself inside Bison’s tight hole. His hips stuttered, then stilled, pressed tight against Bison’s ass, holding nothing back.
For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing, the rapid thumping of their hearts. The closet felt like a sanctuary, small, dark, entirely theirs.
Finally, Kant pulled out slowly, a thick stream of cum trickling down Bison’s thigh. He grabbed a handful of paper towels from the nearby shelf, cleaning them both as best he could. Bison turned, leaning against the wall, his legs trembling, his eyes dazed.
“I can’t walk,” he declared, a lazy grin spreading across his face.
Kant laughed, pulling him into a loose embrace. “I’ll carry you.”
“All the way back to class?”
“All the way to your cell if I have to.”
Bison snorted, then winced as the laughter jarred his aching body. “You’d get caught.”
“Worth it.” Kant kissed him again, slow, deep, tender, everything the frantic fucking hadn’t been. Their mouths melted together, tongues tangling, breaths merging. When they broke apart, both were gasping, foreheads pressed together.
“I love you,” Kant whispered.
“I love you too.” Bison’s voice was thick with emotion. “Next week?”
“Next week.” Kant kissed the corner of his mouth. “Same time, same place.”
“Don’t be late.”
“Never.”
They straightened their clothes, wiped away any evidence, and slipped out of the closet one by one, first Kant, clipboard in hand, heading back toward the storage room to grab a few supplies as cover. Then Bison, walking stiffly but purposefully, a satisfied ache in his ass, a smile he couldn’t quite suppress on his lips.
The art class continued as if nothing had happened. But every time Kant’s eyes met Bison’s across the room, there was a knowing glint, a secret shared, a promise of more to come.