“I heard he made you wear a maid outfit.”
“...it was an apron actually.”
“I also heard you guys totally did it.”
“That. Is a bold-faced lie.” And so was that, but you sure as hell aren't telling that to Mituna. You and your roommate don't exactly get along well, you find him a little bit prying and a lotta bit inappropriate. Every other word out of his mouth is a sexual innuendo and you-
“Was he big?”
“I'm just askin'! How big? Seven? Eight?”
“What are you gettin' dolled up for anyway? Going somewhere?”
“For your information,” As you turn away from your mirror, you can't help the smugness that tints your voice, “I'm going on a date.”
“That sweater looks like a dress on you, dude. Are you gonna wear actual pants with that?”
“Please shut your mouth before I close it for you. Thanks. Cronus asked me out on a date, yes, we are going to dinner and a film, yes, and no, it's none of your business if I'm going to sleep with him, so don't you even dare ask. Also, I'm definitely wearing pants.”
“But you already did, so why does it matter? And skinny jeans don't count, dude.”
You throw a hairbrush at him, he ducks and then goes to retrieve it from where it clattered behind his bed. You sigh. Mituna is a weird little shithead. He's got strawberry blonde hair that hangs in his face and it makes him look like an identity-crisised sheepdog and he wears this stupid hat all the time. Frankly it drives you a little bit nuts.
Then again, what doesn't drive you nuts lately? Mituna's always there and you can't seem to find time to sit and think about last week.
“You know,” You take the hairbrush back and start running it through your hair again, “Cronus told me what Kurloz made you do. So if you want to give me crap for wearing an apron and cleaning house? Fine. But don't think your little escapades haven't gone unheard of.”
You can see a bright blush crossing Mituna's face in the reflection of your mirror and you smirk in satisfaction. “That's what I thought. What time is it?”
“He's late.” You put the brush down and check yourself in the mirror. Maybe your jeans are a little too tight, but... it's a bit late to change now. Maybe he's going to stand you up. The horrific thought crosses your mind and makes you sit down abruptly on your bed, feeling color drain from your face.
“...well, I mean, it's like, 6:51-”
Your phone vibrates. You snatch it up from the desk instantly and flip it open.
Hey doll im here do you wvant me to come up?
You consider this for a moment.
Pr96a6ly n9t, Mituna is here. I'll c9me d9wn.
“...he's early.” You shove your phone into your pocket, smug, and do a brief once-over at yourself in the mirror. God, these jeans really ARE tight, aren't they? Not much you can do about it now. “I'm off. Don't set the apartment on fire, please.”
“Good luck. Get laid.”
You throw the hairbrush at him before you leave.
Cronus is hanging out in the apartment complex lobby, staring at his phone in the way that people do when they don't want to look like they're being a creeper and hanging out alone somewhere. He looks up when you exit the stairwell and dammit he looks nice when he smiles.
“You look nice.” Is the first thing he tells you when you approach, greeting you with a familiar half-hug. He has to stoop to do this. You take stock of what he's wearing. A collared shirt, which shocks you, and he notices, laughing softly as he steps back, casually popping the collar of his leather jacket and grinning. “...you like?”
“Stop,” You shake your head with a little smile. “You look silly, come here-” You reach up and fix his jacket, standing on your toes to reach it. “There, that's better. Where are you taking me?”
He leads you out into the parking lot. The evening is cool, and the clouds overhead look as though they might rain on you later. That would be fine, you think.
“I dunno. Where do you wanna go?”
He planned ahead, obviously.
Cronus drives a truck which you have to struggle to get into. He grabs your hand and helps you up into the cab before he shuts the door, and he turns down the crappy rock music playing on the radio that sounds a bit like Judas Priest.
“I barely know anything about this town, let alone what's good to eat in it.” You remind him, taking stock of the interior of the truck and it's shockingly clean. You think about his apartment, the mess it was, and you wonder if he spends his cleaning energy on his truck. Probably. That would just be like him.
“...okay, I got this.”
The place he takes you is actually rather nice. Classy, not fancy, and you're chewing the inside of your lip as you skim the menu. You're thankful for the quiet booth, as you've found yourself casually resting your feet on top of his boots.
How weird this was.
It's been exactly 8 days since you tossed your virginity out the window. It took you at least a day to recover from what Mituna would refer to as the 'excellent dicking' you received, and you were so thankful that it had been on a Friday so you could spent Saturday on your couch in sweat pants, sore beyond recognition.
And now here you were on a date with him.
“You're not 21, are you?”
“What? Oh, no, I'm only 19.”
Cronus somehow acquired beer in the time it took you to jerk out of your reverie. When on earth did that happen? You must have not been paying attention to what you actually got to drink. It appears to be Coke. Big shocker.
“You with me here, space cadet?”
“Of course.” You press your heel gently against his foot in apology. “I was just thinking is all. I apologize, I shouldn't let myself get so carried away in my own thoughts.”
“What were you thinkin' about? Anything good?”
“...this. Us. Last time we were alone.”
A shit-eating grin spread across his face and you roll your eyes.
“You thought about much else lately, chief?”
Clearing your throat, you hide yourself behind the menu in a very substantive way. “...to be perfectly honest with you? No.”
“Can't say I have either. You know how many times this week I been jerkin' off in the shower thinkin' about your-”
“Cronus-” You bop him on the head with your menu. “Stop that we're in public.”
“Nobody can hear us.” He's still grinning. And now a blush had been added. He looks dreamy, his eyes sort of far-off and you can tell he's wandering back into that memory just as you are. “Goddamn. You were just so good. I can't quit thinkin' about it.”
“You got lucky.” You remind him, “Never would I ever have allowed myself to be so... easy... if it had been under any other circumstance. Don't think you won't have to work for it if- when- it happens again. Get that grin off your face.”
He doesn't. You knew he wouldn't. Smug shit.
“You like me.”
“I might. What does that have to do with any of this?”
“Just makin' sure, chief.”
And he's like that the entire first half of the date. Goddamn him. He flirts seamlessly, every other thing he says reminds you that you're blushing and it's not fair because you don't know how to do it back. You wish you could but there's literally no use.
You're exceedingly flustered by the time you're tucked into the dark movie theater. It's practically deserted. You're okay with that. It's a weekday after all and the only people who are here in the theater with you are fellow college students with their dates. It was a familiar setup.
You're not even sure what the film's about. You're content to have him wrap his arm around you as you rest your head on his shoulder like you know he wants you to. That's okay with you. Surprisingly, a lot of this is.
Until he whispers, “Arm's fallin' asleep. Hang on.” He adjusts himself, removing his arm from around you and he puts his hand, of all places, on your thigh.
You remember the last time his hands were there.
He'd pulled your knees up to your chest, gripping your thighs as he fucked you unrelentingly, that's what he'd done.
A weird sensation falls over you, a strange warmth spreading to your extremities and of fucking course it settles in your groin. You take a breath as his thumb casually strokes the denim of your jeans. Fuck. No. Not this.
You put your hand overtop his. Don't you dare.
He flips his hand up beneath yours to give it a little squeeze. You loll your head against his shoulder again and close your eyes, wishing to god that you'd worn looser jeans.
Shut up. You wanted this. You wore jeans so tight that you knew he wouldn't be able to resist. You like the attention.
Mortification settles on top of the burgeoning arousal. You take a deep breath when he lets go of your hand and you think, for a moment, that he might have wised up but no of course not.
You feel him shift a little and you open your eyes, realizing that he's facing you now, and you look up into his eyes, face cast into sharp shadow from the screen. You have absolutely no idea what's going on in the film. Somehow that's okay. Somehow that's okay because his other hand is brushing your jaw and your chin up, and somehow that's okay because he's kissing you with filthy intentions.
You wished you knew what the fuck you were doing. Your lips move smoothly with his. Certainly you've kissed before, you're practiced and that's okay. He's absolutely silent, save for the occasional wet noise as you make and break contact. His breathing quickens, you feel what you swear to god is his tongue as it skims your bottom lip.
When did he get into your mouth? How long has it been like this? And when, oh, god, when did your jeans feel so tight? You've been fighting the sexual tension away all night. As much as Cronus wanted to talk about it, you've been doing nothing but avoiding talking about it, and in hindsight that probably was not a good decision to make. Because you've been doing nothing but thinking about it.
Touch me touch me touch me touch me-
He does. You sag against him as he brushes his fingers along the front of your jeans. Your cock twitches in anticipation, already semi-hard, and as his tongue tangles with yours you are willing every nerve ending in your body to not make a sound.
Thankfully, somehow, you don't, except to exhale slow and soft against his face. He sinks his teeth against your bottom lip, pinching it. You breathe. He massages your cock through your jeans and fuck. Somebody is going to see. But you know in your heart that that's impossible, because you're in the very back row and you wonder if he chose that for this reason. A weak sigh escapes you again, he squeezes and you grip tightly at the arm rest.
You can feel your thighs quiver and your body follows, a shudder creeping up your back at the sensations that are prying from your groin. A body of sexual frustration and the unyielding need to be wrecked, and he seems to realize this as he rubs you. You shift and squirm and arch your back, trying to express how you feel by just the use of your tongue. You're not sure you're getting the message across.
At least you think so until he stops completely. You stare up at him in silent wonder, why, and he takes your hand and drags you out of the aisle and out of the theater.
You barely have time to pull your sweater down over yourself to hide your boner before he's hauling you into the men's room, into a stall the door locked and shut behind you.
You open your mouth to say something, though you're not sure what, but he's pressing you up against the stall door and rutting against you with something that makes your entire body go weak. You wrap your arms around his shoulders in an attempt to make yourself seem taller, it would appear that standing face to face presents too much of a challenge. He's taller than you, and, as much as it mortifies you to realize this, you're just slightly too short to actually... well.... do the thing.
The phrase rub boners makes you cringe.
He realizes this.
“...hold on.” He's hanging onto you by the waist. “Up-” As you realize what he's doing, you scramble for purchase, wrapping your legs around his waist and oh god yes there it is.
His clothed erection is pressed neatly against yours, and you breathe shallowly. He overtakes your mouth again, arching his back so that his hips drag deliciously with yours and you squeak into his lips.
How can he be so smooth? How did he go from making you blush pathetically from behind a menu to a shivering mess, rutting up against him in the bathroom stall of a movie theater?
“I'm sorry, baby.” He whispers against your mouth, making you whine as he drags a stupidly slow line of friction up your cock. You remember last week, feeling his hard-on through his jeans as he stood behind you, but fuck, you have to confront it facing forward this time, and it feels...
...it feels great.
“I didn't mean to make you wait.. man, did I miss your pretty face... all torn up for me like that oh yeah-” He arches terrifically. “How's it feel? Tell me it's good...”
You can barely manage to nod. “Good,” You choke, burying your face into his neck so that he can breathe into your ear. You will never be able to forget how sweet he talks when he's making you fall apart, he's all words and you wonder if it's for him or for you, that little gratification. It's endearing that he's so vocal.
He makes a beautiful noise into your hair. A breathless, barely tangible moan that makes your cock throb painfully.
And then he freezes. And so do you. Footsteps approach, you can hear them clicking on the tile floor as some inconsiderate bastard, you realize, needs to take a piss in the bathroom and interrupting your hectic frottage.
Cronus merely buries his face. You're not sure if you're imagining it or not but you think you might be able to feel his heartbeat in his dick? No, that would be silly. Then again, you're sure it's a pulse point. You squirm beneath him, wondering how long he can hold you up like this, and he shoves against you, hard, and you bite at the collar of his shirt in protest to this treatment.
You can hear whoever it is unzip, whip it out, and take a leak.
So can he. He shudders in a strange way and you lift your head up, and, in a moment, you realize that he's actually laughing. Silently, but he's doing it. That son of a bitch, rolling his hips playfully into yours as a sneaky grin eases onto his face. Don't you fucking dare, Cronus Ampora.
He lets go of you with one hand and puts a finger to his lips, then, gently, he covers your mouth with that hand and starts again.
You try desperately to kick him in the side, but squeezing your thighs around him only succeeds in shoving you tighter up against him. You roll your head back against the door of the stall, eyes closing as he grinds himself against you. You have to be absolutely silent and he knows this, otherwise you'll be caught, and you just want to seriously hit him.
You punch at his shoulder instead but it only seems to encourage him, rolling his cock against yours. The friction makes your toes curl in your shoes and you cringe beneath his hand. He has to go faster. You can hear the phantom pisser zip up his jeans, flush the urinal, and then walk away without washing his hands.
Cronus lets go of your mouth and you hiss, “You unbelievable bast- ohmygod-” Your voice trails off into a pathetic, shivery whine. “Go faster-”
He obliges, grunting softly with the effort to keep you still upright. He grabs your ass for leverage as he rolls his hips into you, his fingertips digging in. “Don'tstopdon'tstopdon'tstopI'mgonnacum-”
And when you do, you bite down into Cronus's leather jacket and groan, body shuddering with effort as you mess in your jeans. But no, he's not fucking done, and you writhe and twist in an effort to get away from him as he continues to grind your hypersensitive dick.
“Stooooooooop,” You choke, blinking away oversexed tears, “Nngh no no no Cronus please God no I'm so sensitive right now please please please that's so uncomfortable-”
“Stop talking,” He growls back at you, “I'm almost there, keep it down!”
In what you suppose is an effort to keep you quiet, he kisses you hard as he rubs it out on you. You can feel cum smearing in your jeans and no, it's not comfortable, it feels gross and dirty and you just want to change your underwear. Your mind is reeling, Cronus is finally easing down from his coital high. You didn't even notice him finish, too busy focusing on the damp feeling in your shorts.
“....nnnhhh.” Slowly, he eases you down, and you stand weakly, leaning heavily on the door.
“Um-” He seems awkward now, frantically undoing his fly. “...you, uh?”
And as you dart out of the stall and into the one next door, you can hear the sound of him laughing softly under his breath.
You hold the hem of your sweater in your teeth as you undo your jeans, wadding up a handful of toilet paper. You are absolutely burning with embarrassment, and yet... his laughter is somewhat infectious. You find yourself smiling.
“...maybe we shouldn't make a habit of this,” You suggest weakly, jeans around your knees and the little smile on your face. “In public I mean.”
“Maybe not.” Cronus murmurs from the stall next door.
And then, as you hear footsteps once more, another invisible pisser has arrived to relieve himself mid-movie. And, in tandem, you both start to laugh out loud, leaving the bewildered stranger to piss and wonder what could be so funny about a bathroom stall.