#anyways if anyone would like to compliment me on my pristine taste in music feel free | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-lonely-tree-original · 4 years

Text

Hello Once More (Killua x Gon)

Summary: Sometime after their separation, Killua and Gon meet once more. But being on the run from Illumi is hard, and Killua’s gone through measures to make sure people wouldn’t recognize him, even Gon.

***

It was a masquerade dance. One with bright colors and lavish decorations and everything expected from one of the richest hunters in the world. People were dressed in sharp, cleanly pressed suits and long, expert-woven gowns. Suits and dresses were fatuous, however, to the ornate masks that sat upon the guests’ heads. Some were embroidered with the thread of their homeland, others with precious jewels. Each hid a joyful face under the decorated material.

A boy of black hair and blue eyes found himself wearing one of these masks, a crystalline blue sort of color with white beads in a seemingly erratic pattern. His brand new suit became rumpled as he was zipped around disgruntled hunters and their companions by the firm hand of his little sister.

“Hey! Hey, Stop!”

The girl did end up stopping and turned around, a bright smile spreading across her youthful face. “Onii-chan, stop complaining. You promised you would enjoy this for me.”

Killua let out a long suffering sigh, the corners of his mouth eventually molding their way into a quirky smile as well. “I was enjoying it. I was enjoying watching you dance from the sidelines. I can continue to enjoy it from there.”

“Not on my watch. I’m not letting you leave this floor until you’ve danced at least once.” Alluka accentuated her point by giving her dress a little twirl, the movement drawing attention from prying eyes around the room. If Killua’s outfit was extravagant, then Alluka’s was downright ostentatious, the pink folds of her dress covered by a sheer golden sash, making it seem as if she had been wrapped in a glittering sunrise. She wore white, pristine gloves on her hands and brown woven flats on her feet. What she lacked in jewelry, her hair made up for. Long, shing black strands were curled into tight curls that rested on the top of her head in a flowery bun, two loose coils intertwined with golden thread and the beads she and Nanika were so fond of sat upon her chest.

Killua let himself be dragged off, only because he didn’t want anyone to try anything on his baby sister, but someone else had other plans in mind.

“Excuse me!”

Killua whirled around at the voice. The warm and pleasant voice. The achingly familiar voice.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but do you mind if I steal this dance?”

He may have been wearing different clothes and had a mask covering half of his face, but that was Gon. He knew it was. Killua had recognized it from the voice, the charming and comforting voice. Staring at him now, even if his hair had been dyed a new color and his voice had gone a tone deeper like Killua’s had, those honey-brown eyes would have been unforgettable. Keeping his hair a black-green color and only reaching a few inches taller? The familiarity was uncanny.

Snapping himself out of his thoughts, Killua stood aside. No matter how much he wanted to throw off his mask and greet his friend in a hug, he couldn’t. There was no telling what connections his brother had. If he revealed himself here, it would only be seconds before he was seized and dragged home. Gon had asked his sister to dance. He could sit back down and watch from afar once more. She’d be safe in his hands. And, if Killua was being honest with himself, it would hurt a little less too.

Gon, precious, radiant Gon, reached his hand to his neck in a nervous gesture. “So, uhm… is that a no?”

Killua felt two hands in the small of his back, and suddenly found himself pressed against a firm body.

“It’s a yes,” Alluka’s voice rang out from behind. “Sorry about that, big brother’s just a little slow with people sometimes.”

“Hey-” Killua began, but cut himself short. Gon was smiling. It was a big, shining smile, and Killua found himself involuntarily relaxing just a little.

“Great! Thank you very much!” The words were directed towards his sister, and before he knew it, he’d been whisked away to the middle of the dance floor.

They adjusted themselves awkwardly, it being clear that neither of them had any experience dancing with another male. Eventually they found themselves in a position with Gon’s arms wrapped around Killua’s waist and the latter’s around Gon’s neck. Meeting each other at eye level, that sleight height difference Killua had once been so proud of now tied by the milimeter, Killua was able to get a good look at the mask. It was an earthy green, very simple compared to the ones he’d seen on everyone else. Killua amused himself with the realization that his best friend never escaped the colors of his youth, even while he stood before him in a black and white suit - though, Killua’s mask was of white and blues, so he couldn’t say much about himself either.

“Your eyes are really pretty.”

The comment startled Killua, sending him reeling backwards with the embarrassed flush he’d thought he’d left behind.

“W-why would you say that?”

“Because they are.” Gon closed the distance between them and raised a hand to rest it on the side of his head, fingers absentmindedly flicking up black-dyed hair. “They’re really pretty. Like the color of the ocean on a clear day. Actually,” he paused here, an embarrassed flush making its way up his face for once, “they remind me of someone I know.”

“They do?” Killua leaned forward in interest. He knew that he was a big part of Gon’s life, even if the other never felt the same way that he felt about him, and he knew that he must have crossed Gon’s mind at least once, but the other boy had thought his eyes pretty. Did he dare hope…

“Yeah. He has eyes just like yours. Actually, I only really came to this party in the first place to find him. I thought I heard him earlier, but I guess I was wrong.” Gon’s voice faded into a disappointed tone at the end. A tone that he recognized in his own voice whenever he talked about his friend. Killua wanted to grab his shoulders. He wanted to grab his shoulders and shake them and scream, ‘I’m right here, you idiot’ till the sentence was ingrained in Gon’s mind. But he knew he couldn’t. Not when people could be watching. Not when they could take Alluka and him away.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, caught in between the line of meaning it and not. “I’m sure he’ll be here eventually.”

Gon looked at him, long and hard but not seeing. “I don’t know. It was a long shot anyways. He’s been off the maps for a while, so I don’t really know what I was expecting.”

Killua swallowed. This wasn’t Gon. Gon wasn’t sad like this. Gon was upbeat and positive and if he couldn’t be that, then he was a burning ball of anger waiting to explode. Gon wasn’t… resigned.

The former assassin changed the subject, hoping to change the mood to something somewhat lighter. “Oh, I see. If you don’t mind me asking, why did you ever ask me…”

“Ask you to dance?”

Killua nodded.

“Hmmmm... I don’t know. It was just a feeling… I think.”

“You think?”

“You remind me of my special person. That’s all.”

Special person. Special person. Did that mean Killua was his special person? Killua turned his head, looking around the room to find Alluka, to confirm if what he was hearing seeing was real.

Gon continued, oblivious to his internal strife. “You really do sound like him at times, you see. It’s like your voices are exactly the same… and then, and then they’re not.”

Killua knew that Gon was thick headed, to not have realized who he really was even with all these things he’d picked up on. To instead find him and think that he was nothing more than a similarity. Gon never mentioned who he was though, so maybe, maybe if he left a vague enough answer, he would be able to piece together everything without Killua having to reveal anything at all.

“That’s why I asked you to dance. Cause I thought I heard him. I thought maybe you were him.” It was an honest answer, one that got straight to the point and didn’t waste time sugarcoating anything with meaningless compliments. But, if what he was saying was true, then that meant that Gon would have asked him to dance anyways. Because of who he was. Something about that realization sent his heart hammering in his ribs, giddy energy rising up inside him. “Even if you aren’t him… you look enough like him that I still want to be with you. For this dance.”

There was silence then, the only noise being the crowd’s amicable chatter and slow music flowing from the performance upstage.

“If I’m being honest,” Killua began, “You remind me of someone special to me too.”

“I do?”

Their roles were reversed. This time it was Gon with the hopeful and curious tone to his voice and Killua with resignation in his, only that Killua was completely aware of who the stranger really was.

“Yeah. He means a lot to me. He was the person who taught me to let other people in and to care about them in return. I think it’s safe to say that he was my first friend.”

Something of an understanding was beginning to flicker in Gon’s eyes, and Killua smiled at the slow process of him putting the dots together. Before Gon could reach complete clarity, before he could open his mouth and shout his name to the crowd, Killua closed the distance between their faces and connected their lips in a passionate kiss.

Not even a year ago, even with Gon by his side professing their friendship everyday, could Killua have ever done this before. Mortification wouldn’t even have the chance to reach him because the kiss would have never happened. He’d never had the self-worth to believe something good could come out of a reckless and selfish decision like that.

Their journey together and the distance between them had changed him, though. And now with his lips caught in a bruising force against Gon’s, the taste of chocolate and citrus blending together on their tongues, Killua couldn’t find it in himself to regret the decision.

Their dancing had slowed to a stop, and instead they stood, molded into each other with their arms intertwined on each other's hips, making up for all the time they’d missed.

I’m sorry.

I missed you.

I love you.

When their breath had run out and their legs turned weak, the kiss broke off. The two boys separated and stared, breathless, into eachothers’ eyes. Gon closed the gap a second time, not to go for another kiss, but to rest their foreheads together. The gesture was so childish and sweet and so like Gon that Killua found himself bearing a true, beaming smile for the first time that evening.

“Killu-” Gon began, but before he could even finish the word, Killua interrupted with words of his own.

“It’s nice to see you again, Gon.”

#killugon #gon x killua #hunter x hunter #hxh #killua zoldyck #gon freccs #romance #first kiss #fanfic #my writing #oneshot #I've never written a romantic pairing before #I hope it wasn't a nightmare #it respects their ages I swear

35 notes · View notes

rirururu · 5 years

Photo

Okay, this turned out way more angst than I thought it would ;-; I hope you enjoy it anyway! I think the next prompt I do will be more light-hearted and less plot oriented.

Also, GUYS! Please check out the amazing art that IchigoJam2009 has drawn for my fanfics. They've done four so far: two for Green-Eyed and Yellow Hair that had me laughing and squealing, one for Love at First Song that gave me so much warmth to see, and one for How to be a Good Boyfriend that made me smile. I went back and edited my work to include the art at the bottom of the page of the first chapter of each of these fanfics so please take a look and give the artist lots of love! ｡ﾟ(TヮT)ﾟ｡

Click here for ao3 version or go to “Keep Reading.”

If Zenitsu had to describe Kaigaku in one sentence, it would be two-faced.

He acted sweet around Gramps, around their neighbors, and around everyone who knew Zenitsu on a deeper level than just face and name. He only found this out when the two of them were forcefully paired together on a history project at their college. The older boy made it no secret as soon as he heard the news that he’d rather choke on a fish than work with him.

And come on! That’s just going too far- Zenitsu was at least better than a fish! It was inconsiderate. It was brash. It was immature, AND he’d belted it out right in front of their professor like that rebel in every high school movie. They were adults now. Please accept some responsibility and filter out your words or else no one will like you!

Back then, Kaigaku had done nothing but tsk and look away.

Their relationship continued like that for a while. The blue-haired heart throb was an angel around others, complimenting them for the most mundane of things. Sakura-chan got one inch cut off her hair? He was the first to notice and comment. Murata bought a new pair of shoes? He’d ask where he got it from because they were cool (they absolutely weren’t). But if it was Zenitsu who walked in with his hair cut shorter or in a washed dress shirt, smile on his face, Kaigaku would ask why he’s trying so hard and that it was pathetic to watch. It hurt. It embarrassed him and made him want to go home. His day always seemed darker after. He won’t deny that.

No matter how high Zenitsu’s grades were, not once did he suck up to him for their project. On the contrary, he’d judge each of his movements on the keyboard with disdain. Outrage over why his forefinger kept hitting the wrong button, or how dare he interpret this piece of music in that way were common in the form of insults thrown on him. Clutching three textbooks between himself and the other boy, he’d just cry and cower away like always.

The weirdest thing was this whole thing probably intrigued Zenitsu more than it should have.

Am I going insane?!

Probably.

Girls never hesitated to throw nice words around. They’d treat Zenitsu well, put on a pretty smile and a curtsy if it got him to pay for their food or jewelry more time (Why do you need two bracelets? You’re going to question my tastes? Rude. I’m sorry-! Please buy as much as you want!). It may’ve been a day or a week or even a month later, but it wasn’t long before Zenitsu spotted them again under the arm of another guy at the mall. The clink of matching bracelets accompanied the crushing melody of his heart breaking.

Kaigaku wasn’t like that around him though.

He gave him attention. It was painful. But it was still the attention that he’d never gotten from anyone else except Gramps before.

So when on the day that their project was handed in, Kaigaku wordlessly shoved him into a deserted lecture hall and crashed his lips against his, Zenitsu didn’t hesitate to kiss him back. He accepted those arms around him, even as one hand pushed painfully against his shoulder and his back was bruised by the chalkboard.

He properly freaked out after. He was just kissed by a guy. He just KISSED HIM BACK! All the ladies had to mourn the loss of one more eligible young bachelor for the taking. Wondering where he went wrong, that was only the second time he ever really raised his voice against Kaigaku. The first time was their initial meeting. “W-We definitely need to talk about this…! Y-You can’t just push me around all the time and give off the impression of hating my very existence just to KISS ME LIKE THAT-”

“Everyone hates you.” Kaigaku only wiped his mouth off with the sleeve of his jacket. He scoffed. “You’re weak. You’re dumb as bricks. You’re the ugliest in the class, and you don’t know the first thing about music. Do you seriously think you’ll ever be noticed by someone like me again?”

Zenitsu had never been shut up quicker in his entire life.

Not even one of Gramps’ roundhouse kicks would’ve worked so chillingly well. It was the first time he’d ever experienced the horrible sensation. As their encounters in the empty classroom grew frequent, as the number of times that Zenitsu could call Kaigaku his boyfriend increased, so did the bruises and cuts on his back and arms. Weeks, months, even a whole year passed after their first kiss. He became quieter after that.

But…

People always said he was too loud, so maybe that was a good thing?

Kaigaku was making him a better person. The shame he felt gave birth to affection.

Which made it all the worse when it was ripped from his hands.

Genya was with him at the time. One of the only other people in the college aside from Murata who would hang out with him, the hollowed eyes and sunken shoulders of the blond were alarming him in ways he couldn’t decipher. Finally deciding to take action, he invited his friend out for bowling. In addition to archery, it always helped him relieve his anger and stress and some part of him hoped it would work for him as well.

“I can’t.” Zenitsu had only said, packing his bag without even looking at him. “Kaigaku would get angry if I was alone with someone.”

“What do you mean you can’t- you know what!” Genya was too lost to even comprehend their relationship. Instead, he shifted aside so to pull an unsuspecting Murata into their aisle. “YOU, this guy will come with us too!”

“My name isn’t ‘this guy.’” The black-haired boy was already crying. “Be more considerate to normal people like me.”

Murata did tag along anyway despite complaints. He, too, was worried about Zenitsu and the shared look he had with Genya confirmed their goal of cheering him up. They booked the biggest lane in the hall before even boarding the bus. It was pristine with lights flashing in fun shapes for each type of strike that was thrown. They were even served food in between turns.

It was when Murata excused himself to the bathroom that Zenitsu saw it. Fry halfway to his mouth and Genya lamenting about his score, his sight picks up on a silhouette about five lanes away from them.

It was Kaigaku, lip locked with a girl.

Zenitsu’s vision turned white.

Some part of his ears registers Genya’s voice yelling after him, but he can’t be bothered to interpret what he said. Before he even knows it, he’s dashing out of there as quick as possible. He just- he just had to get away. Anywhere far. That little voice in his head that had been substituted with Kaigaku’s and consequently keeping silent for a year suddenly rains down on him like hail.

Pathetic.

He is.

Not even caring, he bursts into the doors of the first bar that he finds. Zenitsu wasn’t a drinker. He didn’t like the way it clouded his ears and made the sounds of everyone around him murky and dark. Still, he slams his wallet down on the counter. Without pretense, he looks the bartender in the eye with tears pricking its corners. The noise didn’t even make anyone else in the room flinch. “Give me the strongest thing you have.”

The gentleman with a moustache doesn’t question it. This was a bar, after all.

Zenitsu complained about a lot about things. If an essay was a little difficult, he’d say it’s killing him. If he was given too many responsibilities by his classmates, he’d say he’s going to die from all of the stress. It was an exaggeration of course for when he was avoiding the trouble it’d take to do something. But for the first time in his life, he didn’t avoid it. He ran straight to it, wanted to drink and drink aND DRINK until he felt like he was going to die.

He thought Kaigaku was different. He thought that there was actually someone who genuinely liked him and would want to be with him. Stupid, useless Zenitsu with your impossible thoughts! Ah, there it was again. And for each echo, he gulped down another mouthful like it was his life’s nectar.

It didn’t take long for him to become blackout drunk. Everything was hazy. The sounds buzzed like a guitar playing off-tune to a blaring horn. His head hurt. He clutched it but it didn’t go away. And soon enough, Zenitsu couldn’t even remember where he was anymore.

But did it matter?

Suddenly, it felt like nothing did. That part of his head, freed by the restrictions of rational thought, commanded his arms like a puppet. The strings of his mind were his own undoing- for he had his phone clumsily hitting the table as he tried to understand the difference between swipe and press. He eventually did get the device to do what he wanted. Soon enough, he found his body swaying drunkenly to the ring tone as the call connected.

When the brisk sound of breath indicating that someone picked up finally arrives, Zenitsu screams.

He screams because it feels like it’s what he’s been holding it in for months now. His loud voice and obnoxious personality that was stuffed down somewhere deep inside of him since the second Kaigaku started giving him love burst out. The drunk shackles of his brain couldn’t hold them any longer.

Some part of him wonders if he managed to break Kaigaku’s ears with it.

“I HAVE FEELINGS TOO, you ASSHOLE…!” His garbles and noises eventually form words. It’s like a dam is let loose as water drips from his eyes like a clogged tap. He bawls. It’s ugly. He doesn’t care. “You always said I was too cowardly to aim high, BUT I wanted us to move in together in a perfect house with a white-picket fence.” It was a dream of his that didn’t feel so far away since they became a couple. He’d never told anyone but gunned for it with all his heart.

“You keep insisting I’m too stupid to make it anywhere in life, HOWEVER I just got a contract deal with a high-end music company and worked my butt off at an interview JUST SO I COULD AFFORD THE HOUSE SOMEDAY! I WANTED US to cuddle in that home, watch the stars in the night.” Maybe get married one too, Zenitsu doesn’t say. He doesn’t want to.

“You think I’m weak, but I WANT to learn to protect you someday and maybe hope you GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS LONG ENOUGH TO PROTECT ME TOO! So what if you you’re rough and mean? For every scathing remark and for each time you hit me, you’d kiss it better.”

He choked. He could tell he was getting stares from the other patrons of the bar but Zenitsu plowed on anyway. “It was okay. As long as you did that, as long as you love me, everything else that you said or did was just fine! So I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY! I hope you’re happy in your Mercedes-Benz car that your friend bought for you because you manipulated him into thinking you were ill. I hope all of those free lessons you got from our Professors that you spent actually stealing the test answers will help you out in the real world WHEN NO ONE GIVES A CRAP ABOUT YOU ANYMORE! You insist I’m crazy for thinking that anyone else will or can ever love me. But I hope-”

Zenitsu cuts himself off with another sob. This next part was like pulling out teeth to get out, but he had to say it. “-I hope that girl who’s with you finds enough peace within herself to love you, because I just can’t anymore. I just can’t-”

“I’m sorry.”

And that’s when Zenitsu felt his entire world ending.

With a higher tenor and a voice the sound of wind chimes, this person was possibly the furthest from being Kaigaku that he possibly could’ve been. The blond finally rips his phone away from his wet cheek long enough to focus his blurry vision on the screen. Sure enough, the number blaring back at him is one- no, three (three?!) digits off from the one he’s had memorized since the very day that history project ended.

When the person on the line speaks again, Zenitsu finds it hard to comprehend that the other’s irregular breathing pattern indicated that he was crying too. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you.”

What, why are you sobbing? This has nothing to do with you, you know! Zenitsu wants to say, but the embarrassment and horror of the situation finally catches up to him and overrides any urge he has to speak with this stranger. Really- REALLY, Zenitsu?! He pours his heart out, finally gives Kaigaku what he’s been holding in for a year, and he’s too dumb to even send it to the right person. It figures-!

Suddenly, Zenitsu is just so tired.

“It’s fine.” He says instead, voice devoid of emotion. “Sorry for bothering you. It’s my mistake.” Then he hangs up before the other can even reply. Now that he’d shouted every bit of his heart into that call, he can’t find the energy to do much else. So instead of lashing out, instead of repeating his mistake, he wipes his phone back out to the correct number. Maximizing Kaigaku’s chat screen, Zenitsu types out a haphazard message in under three seconds without even looking at the keyboard.

van;t do this anynore

brwaking up witg you

Mind surprisingly clear, he gives the bartender a generous tip and nearly refuses the offer of water that he gets. But after a pat on the back from the surprisingly fatherly man, Zenitsu relents and chugs it down. After assuring him that he was taking public transit back, the blond doesn’t even raise his gaze from the floor as he treads out with heavy footsteps. He doesn’t remember most of the walk back to his dorm room. Everyone else goes about their night as usual, laughing among friends as they carried take-out boxes or homework. The world continues to spin while Zenitsu felt inexplicably dead inside.

He somehow finds his way to his bed. Books are scattered all over it from where Kaigaku had left them just the day before. Zenitsu doesn’t even blink while he shoves the accursed things to the floor before landing face-first in his pillows. The impact agitates that bruise in his stomach that Kaigaku gave him once after failing a test. It made him sick. Before he can sleep though, his phone vibrates.

A call…? It shakes on his blankets but the blond doesn’t answer. He’s too exhausted.

After six rings, it finally stops. Zenitsu thinks it’s the end of it but when it beeps again for voicemail, he nearly jolts out of his wits as that same voice from before fills his room. The wind in its sound soothes him and, for a moment, Zenitsu wonders if he’s imagining it.

“I-I know that wasn’t meant for me!” The other boy on the line is nervous. He can tell. “I shouldn’t have continued listening and invaded your privacy like that. I’m sorry. But if it means anything, I think that dream of yours to live in a perfect home with the one you love is beautiful. I bet you worked really hard for that job and will amaze a lot of people with your music. I don’t think you need to work on protecting anyone, because I know you’re strong enough. A-And-”

“What are you trying to say?” Zenitsu finds himself replying even when he can’t hear him.

“…You can be loved. I believe that with all of my heart.”

At hearing that, Zenitsu breaks. He cries.

Maybe, just maybe, he can.

#kimetsu no yaiba #kny #agatsuma zenitsu #kamado tanjirou #zentan #tanzen #otp prompts #don't make fun of me ;-;#and my obscure ships #my stuff #fanfic

18 notes · View notes

lazulia-fics · 7 years

Text

Getting Dirty (Starlight Express fic, Flat-Top/Purse, NSFW)

Oh look, another entry in my “someone on Tumblr dared me to write a random rarepair fic” series. Here we have Flat-Top and Purse, enjoying a little dirty time.

It’s NSFW and tucked away behind a cut. Nothing kinky to speak of, no warnings beyond adult content. You can skip if you’re not comfortable reading it, I don’t mind in the least.

Tagging @thesodorcollective and @exdraghunt, since we were discussing this on Discord. Also @all-alone-in-the-moonlight, as I seem to recall us discussing a few HCs for this pairing. We never did come up with a ship name, did we? :P

Grime, dirt, muck. The air in this dive of a place was thick with it, a filthy mist of coal, brick, and gravel dust.

Purse shuddered. He could already feel it seeping into his plating, settling into his pristine seams and joints. He could taste it, could practically feel it dulling the shine of the glitter he wore on his face. He was used to the sterile cleanliness of the places electrics went to socialize, bright spotless clubs with gleaming walls and glowing lighting and filled with hushed, high-class conversation.

In this place, even the conversation was filthy. Purse passed a slate truck who was quite busy gyrating his pelvis for the benefit of his friends, evidently recounting last night’s conquest, and shouldered his way past two sloppy, inebriated coaches. One of them made a sound that could generously be interpreted as a whistle. Purse pretended not to hear it.

The money truck rolled with stoic grace all the way to the bar, debated whether to dust the stool, and sat down with a defeated sigh, trying to decide what to do with his arms before laying them on the bar top. He was already going to have to scrub himself raw after leaving this place. And take something for the headache pounding at his temples, thanks to the dirty, stuffy atmosphere of this place.

He’d barely had time to lock eyes with a stain on the bar top when a truck slid into the seat next to Purse. “Well well well. What do we have here?”

Purse gave him a bored, slightly disgusted look. A brick truck. He was as dirty as any truck here, covered in gravel dust and coal, a spare brick embedded in his helmet just in case anyone forgot what his job entailed, an insufferably cheeky look on his face as he looked Purse up and down. “Name’s Flat-Top. Come here often, gorgeous?”

Yes, actually. “I’m here on business.”

“Business, eh? Yeah, I got business too. We all got business.”

Purse didn’t bother with a reply. Somewhere in the distance, a truck released a string of profanity to rival Wrench the time she dropped a welding mask on her foot.

“We don’t get a lot of electrics down here,” Flat-Top remarked. Purse heard the scrape of a container on the bar top and glanced down to see Flat-Top pushing a drink in his direction. Purse turned his nose up at it. “Most of the time they think this place is too, uhh…”

“Dirty?” Purse coolly offered.

Flat-Top snorted and took a gulp of his own drink. “Dirty’s a word. Too much dignity to roll around with the freight, yeah? And you sure look like a truck with lots of… dignity.” He made a great show of looking up and down Purse’s body, making it clear he had another word in mind in place of ‘dignity’. “Yep, nothing breaks your composure, hm?”

Purse elegantly rolled his eyes, his attention momentarily drawn to two trucks dancing in a nearby corner, as though somehow they could hear the music above the roar of the crowd. Before long it was less dance and more of an obscene grind and soon a rather obscene kiss. Purse scoffed. Electrics would never get up to such behavior in a public area.

Flat-Top loudly cleared his throat, catching Purse’s attention again. “Looks like you might be here a while. Maybe while you’re waitin’ for your business, you could--”

Flat-Top grabbed his arm. The gesture was somewhere between flirtatious and obnoxious. In either case, the hand left smudges on his plating. Purse shuddered. “Don’t touch me.”

“Hey, I jus’ thought--”

“Not here.”

A look of… disappointment, maybe, crossed Flat-Top’s eyes before he downed his drink and cocked his head toward the side of the bar. “There’s the alley--”

Purse was on his wheels before the brick truck could finish his direction.

The alley behind the freight bar was exactly what one would expect—weak, flickering lighting, punctuated by the occasional flashing lights in the far distance, the thick, grimy dust suspended in the spotlight of the overhead lamps.

Voices, some sober, most drunken, spilled from the bar and the nearby roads. Slightly more private than the bar, but still disgustingly public. Anyone could stumble upon them here.

And before Purse could analyze the locale any further, his back met the brick wall with a thump that made him wince in pain and surprise, Flat-Top pressing at his front with a brazen smirk.

They didn’t kiss- Purse quickly whipped his head to the side before Flat-Top had a chance, barely missing the brick truck’s slight look of disappointment before he cut his losses and went for Purse’s neck instead, clumsily biting and licking at it. The low-key pain made Purse’s body shiver with something between lust and disgust, or maybe a healthy mix of both. The ragged brick wall scraped up his back as Flat-Top pawed at him, running his hands all over as though trying to sully him, pushing his fingers into sensitive joints, scrabbling at his pelvis and unlatching the plating with unsubtle fingers.

Purse sighed as his spike, already hard and twitching, landed in the brick truck’s hand. Flat-Top gave him a few rough strokes that turned Purse’s sigh into a ragged moan, the sound extending as Flat-Top went searching further. Purse expected rough fingers shoving inside him; the hesitation made him frown, tightening his grip on the grimy armour beneath his hand.

“S’okay if I…?”

“Yes, do it,” Purse huffed. Impatience made him snappish. He felt the press of thick fingers inside him, sending a jolt of sensation through his body that ended with another moan, just as he felt Flat-Top shuffle between their bodies and unlatch his own plating. The fingers left his body and Purse spread his thighs, as much as he could while stuck between brick and brick, and suddenly he found himself aided as Flat-Top grabbed his thighs, hoisting him up, slamming him against the wall with a satisfying rush that emptied his lungs of air. Purse was impressed; the brick truck was strong. And then Purse was impressed all over again as Flat-Top pushed inside him, stretching him to his limits, leaving him shuddering and gathering dust beneath his nails as he clawed at Flat-Top’s shoulders.

It was fast, and raw, and Purse wondered if his face looked more pained than pleasured as Flat-Top thrust into him, throwing his face into the money truck’s neck again, puffing loud, graceless groans into it. The sound was underscored by the steady rattle of chains Flat-Top wore around his body, along with the dull grind of metal and brick on ultra-polished plating.

Sex with Electra and the other Components was high art compared to this. Electrics had a reputation for indulging in enough kinks to make a seasoned sleeper car blush like a virgin. But this tryst in a dark alley scratched an itch Purse never realized he’d had. Getting fucked against a wall was quite tame compared to what he and Joule had gotten up to just that morning, but it wasn’t the act here that was kinky to him, so much as the situation.

“Mmm… so pretty. Don’t see many trucks with a body like yours… yep, you’re special… mm, so classy…”

In the cacophony of Flat-Top’s garbled moans and compliments and Purse’s own stuttered breaths, he almost missed the loud, drawn-out noise the brick truck released, followed by two quick thrusts and the sudden presence of dirty heat inside Purse’s body. He frowned, not expecting Flat-Top to be done quite so quickly, and the brick truck gave him a sheepish, but still satisfied grin as he peeled his face away from Purse’s neck.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Flat-Top snorted. He pulled out in a move that made Purse whimper, lowering him back to his wheels, and drew in a stabilizing breath before dropping to his knees in front of the money truck. “Whaddaya expect? Don’t worry, I got ya anyway…”

Purse rolled his eyes, then closed them in pleasure as the brick truck’s tongue made an enthusiastic swipe around the end of his spike. This was followed by a playful nibble of teeth and then a sloppy kiss followed by a sloppy suck, a completely uncoordinated effort that somehow worked really well, leaving Purse breathless and moaning.

The rattle of chains underscored Flat-Top’s soft grunts and sucking noises, a filthy combination of sounds that had Purse writhing against the wall until he felt the bricks dig grooves into his back plating. Before he could stop himself, he scrabbled to grip the edge of Flat-Top’s helmet (he was grabbing and not caressing, of course), following the bobbing motions and watching his spike disappearing into Flat-Top’s eager mouth until Purse found his breath again and groaned as he came, eyes fixed on Flat-Top’s throat as he swallowed until it was all done and pulled away with a smug look of triumph.

“Some business, eh?” Flat-Top smirked, chains jingling softly as he swiped his hand against his mouth.

A little shaky, Purse caught his breath and reached for his discarded plating. Flat-Top handed him the piece with something akin to reverence, the smirk slowly fading to something more subdued.

“Y’know… we don’t have to do it out here all the time. I have a shed. Bed and everything.”

“I know. You keep telling me.”

“So why we gotta meet here every time? You ashamed of me or something?”

“No! I--” Purse cut off his own indignant reply just as Flat-Top’s smirk returned.

“I’m kidding with you! Just sayin’, it’s not always comfortable out there. Pretty sure a rat almost crawled up my arse while I was busy.”

Purse tried and failed to keep from smiling. “I’m not here for anything more, Flat-Top. You know that.”

“Hey, s’okay. You don’t owe me an explanation. Sometimes you just need to get fucked in an alley, you know?”

Such wisdom. Purse’s tiny smile grew a bit. “If you say so.”

“I meant it, y’know. I got a bed. It’s a big one. Real comfortable. Never had an electric in there, but… you’re okay. So you know… yeah.”

“I suppose we’ll see, next time I have business here.”

Flat-Top nodded and shuffled on his wheels as though he expected something more, and tapped the brick in his helmet by way of a parting greeting before rolling back into the bar. Purse watched him go without a word, taking his time before thinking about rolling out of the alley himself.

Grime, dirt, muck. Now he was covered in it. Dirty inside and outside, filthy to the core, and wouldn’t Electra and the Components just be shocked to see him coming home in this condition. Too bad he wasn’t in the mood to shower any time soon.

Purse allowed himself a little grin, glancing down at the smudges and marks Flat-Top left on his body. His back still ached while other parts felt quite pleased. Flat-Top was right; sometimes, one just needed to get fucked in alley. But maybe next time, he wouldn’t mind seeing this bed.

#StEx fanfiction #Stexual #Flat-Top #Purse the money truck

11 notes · View notes