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Whizzer doesn’t remember what time it was when he last looked at the clock, occupying himself halfway decently as he thumbed through a magazine, sat at the kitchen table, a cup of tea hovering by his lips as he idly read. He was engrossed before but now his ears were perked and he was distracted. And yet he knew what time it was, give or take up to 10 minutes.
The jangling of the keys gave Marvin away. Something that isn't as often an occurrence is the sound of said keys falling to the ground with a jingle in the haste Marvin had to get inside, the sound of a curse and a fist, hitting the wall by the door, following in frustration.
Whizzer had wondered how that dent got there.
Marvin broke through the threshold with an irritated sigh, the frustration seeming to bounce off the walls and seep into Whizzer when the younger of the two spared a glance, seeing Marvin dump his suitcase by the door and hang his coat improperly on the coathanger, it dangling lopsided by a sleeve.
Marvin fiddled with his tie - pathetically. All he did was knot it more, hands starting to shake with the mounting frustration.
Whizzer could be sweet. Could walk over and help. Hold Marvin’s hands in his, soothe and kiss away the pain of Marvin’s frayed nerves.
He downcast his eyes back to the magazine, the letters not making words and instead serving as white noise for the eyes.
“You got a hanger. Use it properly.”
Marvin looked at him confused before giving his coat a look, rolling his eyes at the sight. He dropped his hands dramatically, leaving the tie as a loose noose hanging on his shoulders and made a whole spectacle of picking the coat up, dusting off the shoulders in a showy manner, even - disgustingly - licking his thumb and pretending to muss with a nonexistent smudge. Finally he went to hang it by the coat loop.
It crumpled to the floor. He walked away, finally giving up on his tie and taking it off over his head. Whizzer had a sip of his tea. It was lukewarm.
“Sew it up - the loop broke.”
Coming from Marvin, the use of ‘sew’ instead of ‘fix’ was intentional and Whizzer fell for the ploy.
“What? Am I your seamstress?”
Marvin huffed an amused sound, but the smile on his face was meanspirited, looking like a bird of prey with how that permanent unhappy wrinkle was carved in between his downturned eyebrows, the smile now faltered as he approached. He pointedly set the fist clutching his unloved tie down on the table, too close to Whizzer’s tea plate.
Whizzer had been subtle in how he kept an eye on Marvin through his little tantrum, but now, so close, he made it his mission to lock eyes with the pages, disregarding even the hand that cupped his cheek, all faux soothing and gentleness.
“You haven't shaved.” Marvin’s scowl deepened microscopically. Could even Marvin still pretend the touch was loving, even with how he intentionally irritated the barely there stubble along Whizzer’s jaw? No, so he didn’t. Whizzer said nothing in response, didn’t snap his teeth at the touch as Marvin had expected of him. Marvin’s attempts to get to Whizzer were falling flat on their face, he wasn’t getting the attention he wanted - which is all. All the attention.
So he forced it.
The hand drifted down and took Whizzer’s jaw, holding his chin like Whizzer was a sweet red apple he was ready to sink his teeth into. He pulled his chin up, eyes boring into Whizzer’s, leaned and looming over him with the knuckles of his hand turning white where it still supported him on the table, vice grip on his mangled tie.
“Where’s dinner?”
And then there it was. A reaction. Whizzer’s face twisted up and he couldn't hold in the huff of annoyance, whipping his head to the side to escape the grip. The gentle clink of his teacup being put on its plate rang like a siren in the taut tension between them, but the magazine stayed a barrier in Whizzer’s grip, briefly laid down on his lap so he could sit up and lean into Marvin’s space, returning the threat and the invasion, aided by his added height. He teased, their noses briefly brushing and lips on the brink of making contact.
Marvin held in the embarrassing sharp breath he would’ve let out, replacing it with a pleased rumble down in his chest, eyes half-mast and lips parting everso in anticipation; ready to receive his welcome home kiss, to be told of the casserole in the oven, to eat and then to have sweet sex in sheets that were fresh with the scent of detergent.
Too lost in his domestic fantasy, not noticing Whizzer’s steely gaze.
Not noticing Whizzer’s shut mouth.
Mistaking the soft touch on his chest as warmth, too lost to understand it's there to shove him away and when he did it was already too late.
The push didn’t make him fumble or get far from where he was, only forcing him to stand straight, the sudden movement knocking his fist up off the table and catching the tea in the crossfire, a few errant drops escaping the lip of the cup, a soft-brown coloured puddle looking muddy in the plate. Whizzer humphed - satisfied - and brought his eyes back down to the magazine, leaning back and picking it up once more, making it loud and obnoxious how he gave it a shake to straighten it, a mockery of Marvin opening up a newspaper in the morning.
“Depends on where you’re taking me.”
Marvin didn’t get far, but he felt miles between them.
He thought he was the one trying to provoke, but this was clearly a duet. So he pulled.
Marvin plucked the magazine out of Whizzer’s hands, strewing it haphazardly onto the table, it landing into a tent with pages bent at weird angles under it, Whizzer crossing his arms and still choosing to put his attention on the mag instead of Marvin. Only then did Marvin chance a look at the cover, his almost neutral expression going haywire at the sight of a shirtless man in unsightly tight jeans, mugging at the camera.
His gaze whipped to Whizzer fast enough to catch the last second of a smirk having graced his infuriatingly plush lips. Then finally, finally, Marvin got Whizzer’s eyes on him - not a glance, not a side eye, not a vacant gaze only meant to fool Marvin into believing he’s getting something tender. Their eyes met and Marvin felt like the tables were turned, like he was the spectacle, here to amuse. And the little tilt of Whizzer’s head, an eyebrow raised asking Marvin, sadistically, ‘what?’
Marvin didn’t notice how the deep breath he took to ground himself proceeded to tremble meekly out of him, how his neck went hot and how he flexed and shook out his hands. But Whizzer did. And amused he was. Whizzer did and it took all of his years in high school theatre to not break out grinning.
Whizzer could feel the next moves in their little dance happening to the beat of his heart:
Marvin placing a hand on Whizzer’s knee.
Marvin shoving it aside, dislodging Whizzer’s legs where they had sat comfortably crossed.
Marvin stepping into the space made for him, the space between Whizzer’s thighs.
Marvin dropping to his knees.
Marvin, Marvin, Marvin, Marvin.
“I want to eat,” Marvin’s hands trailed up hard ankle to strong calf to strong but such soft thigh, circling back around to hard where his hands got a grip on Whizzer’s hips, fingers sliding under a belt to use as leverage to pull Whizzer forwards. The seal was broken, a laugh startled out of Whizzer as Marvin had managed to inch the whole chair forwards, just to be closer to Whizzer’s junk, smiling lazily but so happy with himself as he finished his thought, “now.”
And, oh, how shameful it was, how Whizzer sparkling with mirth made Marvin melt. He felt his hands trying to start trembling again, so he steeled them, holding Whizzer tighter and massaging into his hips with his thumbs.
“Well, come now,” Whizzer’s fingers worked effortlessly, going down the front of his shirt and deftly undoing every button. It was shameless teasing but Marvin sat through it like a well trained dog - to hell with what Mendel had to say. Marvin’s mouth was watering by the time Whizzer had reached his own belt, it sounding a near silent clink as it was undone. Different from the teacup, this sound furthered to worsen their state in the best ways possible, accentuating how they both hung on each other’s last words, the air around them thick with something more akin to ambrosia than the poison they had gulped with every breath - their sick form of foreplay.
A hand tangled in Marvin’s hair, fingers on his scalp feeling better than any massage he’s ever had and he wanted to rip Whizzer’s watch off him, shatter it to pieces for temporarily blinding him with a stray reflection of the light, interrupting his eyes’ feast on a full course of Whizzer.
“Bon appétit.”
What more can Marvin say?
Nothing. And so he didn’t. He’d been stunned silent and something fragile in him finally broke, hands with a mind of their own undoing the last of Whizzer’s physical barriers as his eyes stayed transfixed on his good fortune. Whizzer’s pants undone, Marvin undone, Whizzer’s dick giving a twitch that betrayed his excitement, they finally meet. Soft, but not sweet.
And it must be something truly idiotic in Marvin to be upset with how Whizzer’s head falls back, because the sound he makes is euphoria. But still, his heart aches ever so at having lost that gaze.
A flash in his head of an offensively handsome man barely dressed on the cover of a top shelf magazine and Marvin’s calm smoulder is lit up into an inferno. He sweeps up his wounded pride and hides it under the carpet, gathering the saliva up in his mouth, that act alone getting a soft ‘oh’ out of Whizzer, it blossoming into a full exclamation, a hearty ‘oh!’, when Marvin dare sink lower than he barely has, tongue petting at the underside of his meal, beckoning it to come closer.
And it actually obeying.
Whizzer’s hips buck against the pressure of the warm embrace of the mouth that tells him such cold things, the mouth that calls him funny names, not understanding that he’s playing into Marvin’s game with how they rise to the occasion and to the pleasure, punching a muffled gag out of Marvin when tip meets uvula. Concern and then the hand in Marvin’s hair straining, pulling a bit at the locks and Whizzer’s head swinging down to look upon him again.
A breathy chuckle at the sight and, though he should probably be insulted, Marvin aches at the sound. Maybe he’s just getting lightheaded from how horny he is. Nonetheless, they could probably start a whole fight over who has the better view. Whizzer, who looks down at a disheveled Marvin, sweat on his brow and tears on his cheeks, eyes, though fighting to stay open, spellbound to not drop from Whizzer, throat flexing with every involuntary swallow and gasp at air. Or Marvin, who is programmed to not know a prettier sight than Whizzer’s beautiful face looking down at him so appreciatively, commending Marvin’s praise and dedication wordlessly, a stray lock of hair hanging over Whizzer’s forehead making him more breathtaking than any photographer could capture and put to paper.
Not that Marvin would let them try, if he had any say. If he ever had any say he’d keep Whizzer in this apartment till the end of time, that being the only window of time into which Marvin could fit all he has to give to Whizzer. To do this for him again, and again, and again, and a-
Too soon the hand on Marvin’s head strikes and his eyes are shocked shut, the tip of his crooked nose briefly meeting coarse hair and the tears spilling anew, head forced down before being brought back up. Again and again. The move was unexpected, but the deep groan Marvin can’t register fast enough to catch is even moreso, prettied up just for Whizzer with the little sounds that come after it, one knocked out of Marvin on every downstroke, occasionally rising in pitch to match the rise in pace.
And suddenly it all stops, Marvin doing his best to scoff down air and failing miserably, only pure musk coming in through his nose where it’s mushed as flat as it’ll go and only pure Whizzer going down his throat, the sensation of accepting and swallowing it down almost hearty enough to feel as filling as an actual meal. And if that’s the case then the desperate gasp of air that fills him when he gets pulled up is dessert, being manhandled into Whizzer’s lap is the frosting and kissing Whizzer in desperation like it’s the last thing they’ll ever do is a prize-winning cherry on top.
Panting against each other, chests heaving and forehead to forehead as their eyes scan each other, filled with more love than either even know how to express or understand, well that’s only the palette cleanser.
“I’ll- I’ll order takeout,” Whizzer gasps in what is only a whisper, the air around them briefly calm. That would probably serve fine to satisfy Marvin just for today, to quell his need for someone to put their love for him into the physical, into a warm meal. Would maybe even kill the dinner argument, if just for today.
“We’re not done here.” Marvin’s eyes filled with drive and dedication, hands snake down into the back of Whizzer’s pants, getting two handfuls and Marvin’s hardon rubs desperately into Whizzer’s abdomen.
Whizzer gulps, but nods all the same.