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"Down, boy." Doof murmured, voice verging on laughter. Perry is ready to combust out of his skin.
He shouldn't even get to be here; it's a fairly intimate party, to celebrate the class of '26's black-band graduation. 5 new senior field agents—3 of which had been under Perry's personal tutelage. Heinz himself had, well, relapsed into what he promises will be a brief stint back into evil, but Perry isn't holding his breath.
He still counts as part of the team, of course. They hadn't booted him out of the group chat, and most of Danville's OWCA knows he's harmless, anyway. There isn't anything he doesn't already know about HQ even before he'd played his hand at being a short term employee (twice!), and he still hadn't done much with whatever priceless information he'd procured (as far as anyone knows). When Perry had announced that he was bringing the man along, none of his peers had even blinked. As if they had expected it. Heinz had been talking about it all week during their brunches—after the scheme of the day—as if his invite had been a given.
Perry supposed it might as well have been.
He knows that Heinz had been planning to dress up—dressing up is a guilty pleasure that he partakes in as much as he can. And Perry had been looking forward to it; shivering from anticipatory pins and needles the whole drive over to DEI to pick him up and take him to HQ. Heinz had such good fashion taste (most of the time), and it's become a pleasure to take in all the rented shoulder-padded suits and loose-fitting crop-tops where Heinz had felt like needs must. Even better are the more daring of days; where Heinz steps out in dolly-parton wigs and eyeliner sharp enough to slay him where he stood. The off-shoulder camisoles and the skirts that stretched his legs out for miles.
Heinz's features might not be as traditionally masculine as Roger-Three-Time-Front-Page-Cover-of-the-Handsome-and-Symmetrical-Magazine-Doofenshmirtz, but he was beautiful, and he knew it. No, it was everyone else who needed help to get with the programme.
And his get-up tonight—boy, it was as helpful as you could get.
The first thing that came to mind was; Ah, so that's where Vanessa had gotten it from.
Heinz Doofenshmirtz struck a striking figure in the moonlight. He'd been growing out his hair for this, Perry knows, and tonight, he'd let it all down. Brushed and glittering light auburn hair, falling all the way down his upper back. A small, unbuttoned peacoat against the chilly night over over a light green bandeau, and a long, black skirt—pinched across his thighs—with a thigh high slit that reveals itself as he stepped daintily into the passenger seat of Perry's tiny Cooper, minding his ankle-length straps of his 3 inch heels. When he leans closer, Perry finds—devastatingly—that he is wearing eyeshadow, a blend of glittering silver and pthlo green to suit the shade of his top, and his lips are a bold matte shade of red.
"What?" He dared to say, when Perry continued to stare without moving a single muscle. He looked down, checking his garb with a recognizable tint of self-consciousness. He pulled down the passenger side vanity. "Something on my face?"
His fingers pull on the edges of his eyes, checking over his make-up. Perry sees that he's painted them a bright red, a striking colour against the moonbright pallor of his skin tone. Perry swallows, mouth suddenly dry.
He signs, with trembling fingers; Maybe we can skip out tonight.
"What?" Heinz shrieked, evidently surprised, and not a little dissapointed. "Why? We've been planning for weeks!"
How to explain himself, thought Perry helplessly, without making him sound like a insatiable, lust-bound monster?
Heinz must've seen something in Perry's face then—no doubt unobscured by close quarters and the brightly lit interior of the car. The dissapointment melts away into something curious, then shyly pleased, then devastatingly mischievious. He closed the door behind him with a definitative thump, pulling the car belt down over his front. Perry still hadn't moved.
Heinz leaned forward, one red-tipped hand resting gently on the broad surface of his chest as he pressed his lips to Perry's own. Perry reciprocates hungrily, unfreezing long enough to tear his hand away from the wheel to grasp the bare skin of his middle—digging his fingers into the plush flesh of his abdomen. He smells a bit like bubblegum, Perry notes, and his mouth tasted like cherries. Perry drags his lips over the edge of his mouth, and his cheek—dusted pink—pushing him back, unbuckling his own seatbelt-
"Oh, nu-uh," Heinz said, pushing him back into his seat. The engine was still running, and they're parked in the middle of the street. "Party time. I look way too pretty not to show off tonight, and you are taking me dancing."
Perry is feels positively feral. I can take you dancing up at your place.
Heinz chortles, a blatantly un-pretty noise. "Oh, I bet you can, big boy."
Something about the flirtatious endearment strikes another match in his chest, and Perry pushed forward, unthinking. His next kiss knocks Heinz against the inside of the passenger side door, and he shoves his tongue inside as Heinz gasped—from shock and pain both—as his fingers, hungry and frantic, ran down the cinch of his waist. Heinz's hands reach up—instinctive—wrapping around Perry's broad shoulders, stroking up the back of his neck, the sides of his face. It grows heated, messy, the inside of the car growing humid from their shared rapid breaths as Heinz reciprocates—his match, his par, his soulmate—twofold, keeping up, holding his own.
When Perry sucks Heinz's tongue into his own mouth, nibbling his painted bottom lip, Heinz moaned—pushing him away again, begging for his next breath.
"The party-," He gasped, hips bucking when Perry slips the edge of his fingers down the waistline of his skirt. Perry lunges, teeth first, burying his face into the crook of his neck for a better scent of that perfume; sweet and cloying as day fresh honey. The gear shift digs into his abdomen as Perry pushes closer, further, dizzy, hungry, slipping his hand further down to find—
A car horn, long and loud. They both jump. A pick-up truck swerves to avoid their unmoving vehicle in the middle of the street. The driver swears as it drives by, no doubt threatening them with cops, and Perry needs to get. A fucking hold of himself.
"Party." Heinz reiterates, firm. Perry returns his hands to the wheel, dazed. He is looking straight ahead, out the windshield, a little scared of how overcome he'd gotten over so little time. "We are going out. Drinking. We are going to dance, and celebrate our friends, and we are going to have a nice time, and you are not going to mount me on the dancefloor."
Perry can probably figure those first couple of things, but the last one just might be a little too much for him to bear. Or promise.
"The sooner we go," Heinz continued, babbling firmly, a distraction method. Perry straps the belt back over himself. "The sooner we finish, the sooner we go home."
Home. The implications of the term had Perry swallowing again, for completely different reason. His chest aches, for more than one reason this time. Heinz takes out his purse—a small clutch Perry had not even noticed he'd brought with himself—to fix his make-up (his lipstick had smudged, hair in disarray, a single red blot just beneath his jaw where Perry's teeth had fit just right-) and Perry pulls the car out of park, fixing his eyes straight ahead, and steps on the gas.
When Heinz stepped into the room, he'd turned heads.
This wasn't as uncommon as you'd think. Heinz demands attention, by sake of existance, but so very rarely for this.
Perry grits his teeth.
Coworkers, he reminds himself. These are your coworkers.
Maggie had squealed, bounding towards them with a bounce in her step and open arms, perhaps more than a little tipsy. Heinz met her gladly, laughing as she peppered his cheeks with kisses.
"You look beautiful!" She exclaimed, as Karen gently tore her away long enough for Perry to shed both their jackets. Heinz gave him one last coy look before he's pulled further into the crowd, and Perry was left standing there with two jackets poised strategically over the tent of his trousers.
He takes a sharp left, having memorised the layout of the gym-slash-event hall from the ghost of OWCA events past and navigating the crowded open space easily, heading for the supplies closet repurposed as a coatroom. As he hung their jackets respectively, he breathes in that familiar bubblegum-and-gasoline, lingering in the fabric of Heinz's well-worn peacoat, and nearly lost himself in the ache, again. Throbbing in his chest to the beat of the wordless music playing through the speakers. Come on, Perry, he'd thought. Get it together. Think. Candace's baking attempts. Lawrence's antique forks collection. Naked Monogram. The last of which was an image so disgusting Perry shudders, feeling himself soften from the sheer unsexiness of his own imagination.
See? Easy. He would not allow himself to be tide-swept by how sexy his dilf-situationship-slash-best-friend looked like at a party hosted in public by a bunch of their friends and coworkers. Perry is a composed, rational adult with a stalwart control of his own emotions, and not some hormonally repressed catholic school boy. He is the epitome of composure.
"Now that we've got most of the room filled out," A sultry voice came over the intercom, the ambient lo-fi beats that had previously accompanied their arrival are replaced by the gentle strumming of guitars, a cursory check. Francis had really went all out, thought Perry dryly as he returned into the fray. Maybe some of the had pulled some strings. "We'll start off with something slow to warm up, a little something for the plus-ones lingering on the edge of the dancefloor."
A band had taken over the stage—pinstripe suits and printed vests, complementing their standard issue OWCA hats. There is a brief ringing of feedback—indicative of a palm slapped over the mic, and Perry hurries faster towards the stage, knowing he would find—yes, aha.
Agent Harry the Hedgehog catches his eye, where he's crouched over on his knees on the edge of the stage, listening to something frantic Heinz was whispering in his ear. He does not seem to mind the proximity, but Perry does, and again—he tenses.
Harry grins, all silver-plated teeth. For a man more piercings than skin, he had the voice of an angel. One OWCA took advantage of whenever they have need of a live band for a private event, and Love Handel might request a price tag a little over their desired budget. Harry ducks down, whispering something back into Heinz's ear, pressed just a little too close, and Perry clears his throat.
Heinz jumped. Harry laughed. Perry clenched his jaw, perhaps wanting to be a little more ticked off than is appropriately warranted, but when he sees how Heinz glows to see him return, the anger seeps right back out of him like dishwater out of a leaky container. Heinz bounces back over, throwing his arms around his shoulders, and Perry only deflates further, setting his arms back on Heinz's bare waist like they were magnetically opposed, a scientific inevitability.
What did you request? Perry asked, trying to appear unaffected. Heinz grinned, but before he could answer, the intercom sounds back up again.
"We've got a bird in the audience asking for something with a bit of a beat, just to work up some sweat and shake off some nerves. We'll have a little fun with it."
The air fills with the ambient sounds of trumpets, an audio back-up to fill in the empty instrumental spots, and the crowd trilled happily from the recognizable melody. Perry sends Heinz a sharp look as Harry took centre stage, James the Iguana strumming base and Mariana the Meerkat on the piano.
You didn't.
"It'll be fun!" Heinz said, with a confident coyness that so rarely came to play. He tugged at the edges of Perry's hair, hanging off the back of his neck, and pursed his lips. Still so unabashedly flirtatious that Perry would've laughed himself, if he didn't echo the yawning hunger buried deep in Heinz's storm blue eyes, shadowed in parchment-yellow lighting. They mirror his own.
His fingers dig again, fingers pressing grooves into the scintillating plushness of Heinz's abdomen.
"Humor me," Heinz whispered, already swaying. And Perry-
Melts, as he does, like so much ice cream on a hot summer's day. It is how it always has been, and Heinz, damn him. Of course he knew, no hint of doubt at all in the wrinkle of his crows' feet, the quirk of his smile.
Perry doesn't answer. He doesn't have to—feeling himself pulled into the vaccum pull of the eye in a tornado, but he follows.
Where Heinz goes, Perry always follows, the best kind of trouble.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Harry crooned, lips brushing on the mic. The trumpets began to roll, and the drum began to beat. "Michael Buble, Sway."
When marimba rhythms start to play
Dance with me, make me sway
Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore
Hold me close, sway me more
Even under the fluorescent gym lights, Heinz shone like sea glass.
He melts like so much wax under the press of Perry's fingers, his knee slotting between Heinz's own like puzzle pieces. It wasn't anything they didn't already know.
Like a flower bending in the breeze
Bend with me,
sway with ease
Heinz clasps arms behind his back, throwing his chest into definition; the sharp lines of his collarbones, the line of him—a single bowing curvature. Every scar and imperfection into the bloody limelight, the soft belly of him that he's never managed to hide; a desecrated effigy, something profane.
Perry breathes in, staring into half-lidded eyes, and feels like praying.
When we dance, you have a way with me
Stay with me,
sway with me
"What's gotten into you?" Heinz muttered, unclasping his hands to cradle his face, angling it upwards. He'd fixed his make-up, Perry thought deliriously, and padded concealor into the naked stretch of his neck. He looks untouched—but Perry knows better.
The ache in his breastbone cavity throbs all the more painful…They know, they know, Perry thinks to himself. But do they really?
Other dancers may be on the floor
Dear, but my eyes will see only you
Only you have that magic technique
When we sway, I go weak
Do the people here know that Perry has seen him? Broken in all the ways a man could be broken—beaten and lost and pushed away. Do his co-workers know that Heinz knew him best, that there was so very few in the world who heard him as precisely as Heinz could with so little effort, who reads him like a book, who blasts through all his walls with all the efficiency of the explosives he packs in every self-destruct feature of his inventions?
Can they see the bruises? Can where their scars fit together like torn out paper, or gold lined ceramic, missing shards? Do they see the scars Heinz had left him, a yellowing bruise on the back of Perry's neck? Do his coworkers know that the scar on Heinz's lower back had been a nick from Perry's knives?
You, Perry signs; a belated answer to Heinz's question. Those big, blue eyes read him like an open book. Like Perry was translucent. You look beautiful.
Heinz laughed, the tipsy flush on the top of his cheeks flowing down, down his neck, his shoulders. His freckles pop like stars. "I didn't think you were going to say it out loud."
He'd never thought he had to, but like this—Heinz shining like a goddess, an unstoppable force slowing down just for Perry to keep up—maybe he should.
I can hear the sounds of violins
Long before it begins
Heinz took him for a spin, and Perry follows.
He keeps one arm firmly on the small of Heinz back as the man took a step forward, one step back, choreographing every next move that he makes in a code Perry knows by heart—a language he's been studying 6 years in the making. He goes and Perry follows. Perry is leading, allegedly, but only in the sense that he is holding onto a fragile string, taut to snap.
One step forward, two steps back.
Make me thrill as only you know how
Sway me smooth,
sway me now
There is power in this, the fall. He trusts Perry to catch him, and it takes his breath away.
Other dancers may be on the floor
Dear, but my eyes will see only you
Only you have that magic technique
When we sway, I go weak
Perry takes initiative, curling the man into the crook of his shoulder, and leading him into a spin. Heinz laughed, wild and free, glittering—can they see it, can they see it—and when Perry pulls him back, Heinz takes curls around him like lock and key; curling around him with a bare thigh curled around his waist and his hands, curled around his cheeks.
One hand trails down to catch Heinz's thigh in a one handed grip—fingers digging into a handful of plush flesh, and for a second, he considers not letting go.
I missed you, he thought, burying his face into the crook of Heinz's neck. They're pressed together, toe-to-temple, and he wants them all to look just as painfully as he wants to keep all of it to himself. I was missing you. You were missing from me.
"This feels familiar, hmm?" Heinz said, lips red as a fresh bruise, red as cherries, red as wine. His eyes twinkle, and he tears himself away, and it feels a little like bleeding.
Can you feel it? Can you see it?
I can hear the sounds of violins
Long before
it begins
Heinz fell, and Perry catches him again. It starts to feel like inevitability.
The irony doesn't escape him.
Make me thrill as only you know how
Sway me smooth, sway me now
He twirls him again—skirt flaring like a flower in bloom—back into his arms, back to front, and Heinz reaches up, up, into he heavens, tossing his head back with a megawatt grin. Their hips sway languidly—a push and pull and push and pull—sharing breath, a single breath in exchage for another. Perry presses his own smile into the skin of Heinz's cheek, lit up like a christmas tree. He burns like so much drywood on a cast iron stove, brittle and fulfilled.
Can they see it? Perry thinks again. I don't. I don't know where you stop and I begin.
When marimba rhythms start to play
Dance with me, make me sway
His palm again, resting lightly on the bare stretch of Heinz's abdomen. His thumb gently running along the stretch of his waistband, and Heinz exhales, easily attributed to the exertion of the dance.
But Perry knows.
Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore
Hold me close, sway me more
"Ready to go home?" Heinz asked, a shallow lightness. His breaths come heavy, his backside pressing meaningfully against Perry's front. His throat glitters and slick with sweat. Salty, Perry notes, when he presses on open mouth to the line of his bare shoulders, and Heinz trembles like a tree on a wind-beaten cliff.
One step forward, one step back.
He can feel the crowd glancing, watching, present and distant all at once—it is unspoken and loud. Teeth gleaming in the darkness.
Mine, Perry thinks, this is mine, mine, mine.
A little longer, he pleads, without words.
When we dance you have a way with me
Stay with me, sway with me
A creak, a breath, a moan—whispered right into his ear.
"Please."
All other thoughts—of eyes, glass and glitter—are swept out of his mind. Perry can deny him nothing.
Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore
Hold me close, sway me more
One last string, a flourish of drums, and OWCA agents gather to clap. In the explosion of cheer, Perry grabs Heinz's hand, and they run.
They make it as far as the car.
"I have t-to admit," Heinz moaned, toes curled over the backrest of the passenger seat. "It-it's v-veryyyyy flattering-! That. You, f-uck Perry-,"
Perry hums in agreement, his face buried deep between the other man's legs. He angled upwards, nuzzling the bone of his nose more firmly into Heinz's clit, shoving deeper into the slick recesses of him, dripping juices onto the seat of the car.
The scent of their sex permeats the inside of the car, rocking with the fierce, jolting movements of their lovemaking. Heinz's noises—loud, unrestrained—echo loudly for every thrust of Perry's tongue, curled and precise, like he's scooping out more and more slick straight down his throat—parched like he'd been stranded in the desert for weeks, and no other oasis in sight. He adds a bit of bite—like he's making a point—and Heinz squealed, the thigh hung over Perry's hunched shoulder curling, pulling him closer.
"Oh fuck," Heinz sobbed, trembling. Perry blinks, looking up—the sight that greets him shaking him to the core. The bandeau, undone, shoved upwards so Heinz could finger his own peaked nipples with abandon, flushed pink with blood. "Oh fuck, fich, shi—scheiße, Perry, Perry, Perry-,"
Perry slurps, pulling away to wrap his tongue around Heinz's clit—swollen and oversensitive from having humped the bridge of his nose—flicking it once, twice, and Heinz cums his first orgasm of the night, screaming. The hand he has buried in Perry's hand tightens, pulling at his scalp as he wets the lower half of Perry's face, the other slapping at the floor of the car, scrambling. The smell of Heinz's sex, pungent and inescapable, sticks to the back of his throat on every inhale, and Perry grinds the tent of his neglected cock firmly into the seam of the backseat, desperate.
Heinz groans, pushing away at him as Perry laps up the wetness clinging to the inside of his thighs, following the drips down to the seam of his ass, soaking into the worn leather of the carseat. "You're fucking. Unersättlich, lass mich-let me breathe, you-ah-a-a-nimal-!"
Perry rises to all fours, stealing any further protestations right from his mouth. Squelching noises fill the expanse of the car as Perry replaced his tongue with two fingers, sinking into the wet heat of him, two knuckles deep. Heinz bucked, hips torn between moving into or away the insistent thumbnail flicking the underside of his clit. Perry curls his fingers, searching like a heat-seaking missile, and knows he's found jackpot when Heinz tears his lips away to throw back his head, knocking back against the doorjamb.
"Fich! Oh-ohh-oh my g-god-,"
Perry trails kisses down the length of his throat, keeping pace—hard and fast. He leaves more marks as he goes along, licking away the thick, bitter cream he'd used to hide the mark he'd come with, all the way down to the twin peaks of his nipples, laving thickly—stimulating the sensitive areolae with the tip of tongue and gently nibbling, the tiniest of love bites, leaving them as bloodshot bruised as the rest of him.
"God-dammnt, fuck-ing, verdammt, fuck, ah-ah-ah,"
Come on, Perry thinks, the ache in his chest like a fanged, clawed thing, starving thing, driving him wild, drooling. Perry pants like a bull. Come on, let me see it, let me see you, let me see, let me see, let me see.
Show me the one thing the others can't, Perry thinks. Heinz chokes on his own breath, the muscles of his tummy trembling from his climax, close enough to taste. Show me the one thing they never will.
Perry slips a third finger alongside the first second, and Heinz kicks out—heels cracking the portside windows as he squirts, wetting down the tent of Perry's trousers, yet unzipped.
"Oh my Gott," Heinz gasped, his cheeks stained with melted makeup, eyeliner running down his cheeks in streaks of smudged black. "Arseloch, verdammt, Ich verstehe, you monster, you like it, if I knew you were going to like it this much I would have—worn it out more often, Jesus fuck-,"
Perry bites at his navel, growling. An unspoken no. Heinz groaned weakly, still shaking from the aftershocks of two orgasms, one after the others.
"Don't do that." Heinz whined, pushing at his face. Perry comes closer, regardless, peppering his black streaken cheeks with kisses, his warm hands rubbing soothingly down the outside of his bare thighs. "No. Don't. Banned. Blocked. Reported. Unsubscribed. How dare you, knowing how much I like that, when you make your stupid platypus noises-,"
Perry thumbs his nipples, peaked and swollen, and he grins when he hears Heinz's toes curling inside the cheap plastic of his heels. Heinz tugs at his hair, admonishing. His glare is encumbered by the sheer sight of him, soiled and dishevelled, flushed still from wet-fresh pleasure. His lipstick is all but gone, undoubtedly transferred all over Perry's own mouth, which he confirms by running his own tongue down the bottom of his chin and tasting wax.
Heinz huffs, pouty, but only for so long until Perry bows down to press another open mouthed kiss—deep and warm. Perry runs his hands again, down the smooth skin of his moonlight thighs, hung over his shoulders, and Perry bucks—uncontrolled—over the responding whine.
Heinz sighed, a little defeated. "Take it out."
Perry huffs. You don't have to.
But then he feels it; another telling gyration if Heinz's hips, seeking. He keeps his legs spread, eyes foggy with needs as he bites Perry's lips, "Please," like it hadn't been the thing that's gotten them into this mess. Like he didn't know Perry would hand him the moon on a platter if he batted his eyelashes pretty enough.
And fuck. He's so fucking hard.
Perry scrambles at his own belt, trying not to brush against the oversensitive bulge else he bust too early this far into the game. Heinz pushes his shoulders back, undoubtedly begging for the chance to look as Perry shoves down the waistband of his briefs (embarassingly wet by the head) just beneath his balls, lacking the wherewithal nor space to shove it any further down. His balls had risen tight over his taint, the head of his cock a little too red from all the neglect as Perry had spent most of his time trying to shove his face between Heinz's legs as quickly as possible.
"Gott," Heinz said, and he's reaching down before Perry can stop him, wrapping his fingers around the thickest part of him, near the base and tugging at his teal colored pubes. Perry groans; a brittle, low toned thing—characteristically hoarse, his throat locking from pain. Heinz is looking at him like a three course meal. "I always forget how thick you are." He mused.
Heinz began to jerk him, grip tight and perfect, slick from sweat and letting Perry take his fill. Heinz twists his wrist on an upstroke, stimulating the glans right his ruddy, leaking head, and Perry. Chokes. Falling forward.
Please, he thinks, humping Heinz dry like a dog, inches away from a wet, hot, hole. He'd be happy with just this, he'd take it—he'd take anything, to make Heinz happy, if this was all Heinz could stand. He'd achieved his goal for tonight, tongue and throat still tingling from the taste of his, sinuses drowning from the scent of his sex—but if he isn't. God, if Heinz wasn't-
Please. Please please please-
Heinz pulled his hand away, and Perry bites through his lip to restrain a sound of dissappoitment.
"Relax," Heinz said, because of course he'd hear it anyway. He shoves himself upwards, sitting up in the cramped space of the car, and the bandeau falls apart completely, baring his upper half utterly naked to the too-hot air, uncaring for anyone who might pass by outside the fogged up windows.
His breasts are small, and barely noticeable, anyway. Nothing too dysphoric—but like this; covered in red and yellowing teeth marks, peaked nipples glistening in sweat. They are the most enrapturing things Perry has ever seen. So enrapturing, in fact, that Perry almost completely forgets about own erection again. This is just for me, he thinks wildly, pupils blown wide in awe. Me, and nobody else. All mine.
"Budge up," said Heinz, a bit nonsensically. Perry blinks. "Let me roll around. All fours, okay?"
Okay? Yes. Extremely okay. He co-operates a whole lot better, now having understood the end goal of all the shuffling, though it was still a bit too uncomfortable and clumsy and uncoordinated. Heinz's joints would not thank him, tommorow, we should've gone home, but they'd both been far too excited, and Perry had been so out of his mind with lust he might've been liable to crash the car. So if you think about it, they're actually being incredibly mature and responsible about this.
Perry snorts, and Heinz hits him with his elbow.
"Focus."
O-w, Perry signs vehemently. And Heinz hits him again.
Perry wrestled his arms away, and Heinz only puts up a token fight, despite already being on his knees anyway. Perry shoves him down to his elbows, grinning, blowing a raspberry down between his shoulderblades and Heinz squawked, laughing.
" This is supposed to be sexy, Perry the Platypus," Heinz chides, back bowed to throw his ass out in definition, still partly covered by this heavens blessed thigh slit skirt, pushed up to his waist. A demure pair of cheeks as well, a bit bony, but paler still than the rest of him, the kind that bruised like an overripe peach when it hits soft soil. Perfect as a pearl.
Perry sighs, fond and awed at once.
To retaliate the playful comment, Perry runs his fingers, again, down the soaking seam of his labia, spread open and willing. Dripping, again, the most indicative tell. You feel plenty sexed up to me.
Heinz moaned, breathy, pressing his face down the sweat soaked seats. "Come on, I thought you, yess-,"
Heinz hissed as Perry pressed the head of his cock into his waiting hole, gritting his teeth as he attempts to slowly savor the pulsing, fever hot sensation of sliding inside the love of his life, tightly snd welcomed.
It's good. Better than good—mindblowing—the vice in his tight clenching tight, tighter, seeing the submissive bow of Heinz's spine as he purred, blissed out, eyes rolled to the back of his head.
I did that, Perry thought, running his hand down the back of Heinz's chest, gripping his waist in a white knuckled grip, being sure to leave behind a Cinderella style handprint. I did that. This is for me.
They can all look, but none of them can see. They can't touch. This is mine.
Their hips join, pelvises pressed flush as Perry tries to let Heinz adjust, and Heinz whines, heels digging into the carpet lining of the foot well.
"Move." He mewled, begging. "Move, move, move, move, move."
I have you, Perry thought, testing with a first, gentle thrust, but two orgasms in, Heinz slides like a dream. Oh fuck. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-
"Yes," Heinz wheezed, as every thrust grew in confidence, in speed, getting harder, faster. "Fich, fuck, y-yes, fuck me, baby, oh fuck, shit-shit-shit-shit-shit-, "
Perry huffs, grunting, and sweat dripped down both their bodies as the car rocked harder, shaking from the force of their sex. The rhythm is unmistakeable, the sounds pornographic—the kind you had to pay 50 dollars a month for to be treated to holiday themed fan-service streaming and 4K graphics, and an extra 30 for a private "date."
Heinz is moaning like he's getting paid for it, teeth clacking from being unable to help himself, synchronising with the beat of every thrust. "Shit, fich, yes, hard, yes, hurt, make it, hurt, Perry, ah, ah, ah, ah-,"
Perry growled again, gathering Heinz's arms behind his back (just like their dance, throwing out his chest, looking like a natural disaster) and pulling him up, on his knees, bouncing him on it, and Heinz almost bouncing the top of his head against the roof of his car. Heinz is fucked out to well to notice.
"Perry," he gasped, as Perry shifted his grip into one hand, and the other twisting around to wrap the front of his throat, applying just the right kind of pressure, just the way he likes it. "Fich. Scheiße, shit, yes, fuck-,"
He can come, Perry knows, planting his nose into the sweaty crook of Heinz's neck as their knees threaten to slip off the seat, just like this. Taking cock from the back and a hand around his throat, waiting for Perry to press the right buttons.
Perry needs to feel him cum, one last time.
"Close," Heinz begged, temple knockong against the side of his own. "Close, close, please, please, please-,"
Perry squeezed, just there, pulling back on Heinz's arms to bow his spine even further, just a matter of the right angles…
On the next thrust upwards, Heinz keened, and he cums, one last time, gushing over his cock.
The vice in his heart and the channel around his cock tightens at once, and that was it. Perry cums, a force that almost knocks him out, a white-washed tidal force that knocks every last thought from his mind but Heinz's name, I love you, I love you, fuck, I love you so much.
Clarity returns slowly, as the sensations inside their glorified hotbox makes itself known through the stifling air against naked skin. Perry feels his softened cock slip out, releasing a small flood of fluids down Heinz's thighs, sticky and staining the unsalvageable cotton and leather surface of the backseat. Heinz huffs, light and airy, as Perry cranked the windows down, allowing a circulation of air to return (as much fresh air as they could get from OWCA's employee underground parking garage, anyway) and cooling the sweat on their skins.
"Good party," he croaks, a little delirious still. He leans back, sweaty skin or sweaty skin, and without the psychological barrier of sex Perry can't help himself from scrunching his nose in distaste. "No? You didn't like it?"
I didn't say that. Perry signed, a little lazily. Heinz's eyes still glitter a bit, though Perry can't be damned to figure if it is the leftover eyeshadow, or thr natural twinkle in his eye when he teases him. Perry grinned. The company made it better.
"Sap," Heinz muttered, gleeful. He buries his face a little more firmly into Perry's neck, as if now—of all times—he felt suddenly embarrassed.
"I'm glad you liked the look."
Perry grins, running his finger down the stretch of the skirt waistband, crooked and sweat stained, but undeniably hanging on.
Heinz looks beautiful in it, Perry thinks. But still, it looked better on the floor.
Yeah, he signed, a little drily. Heinz chuckled, raspy. I guess I do.
Written by a human in Ellipsus.