Brian coming up behind Ross, whispering in his ear that he looked fucking good in that short little dress. Pressing him up against the wall and grinding slow and hard to show how turned on he was, hard enough for Ross to shudder and suck in a sharp breath between his teeth. Brian yanking the hood off of Ross' head and scraping his teeth against his neck as he shoves the dress up. Dirty, rough, needy frotting against the wall, Brian's face pressed against Ross' neck, his hand on his mouth.
Brian’s lips twitch up as Ross grinds back against him, but he doubts Ross notices–he’s too far gone, too desperate, too into the scene he’d painted for them both.
“This is what you wanted,” Brian growls, biting Ross again; there’s an answering yelp and Brian has to steady himself with a hand on the wall as Ross bucks. He makes a sharp sound, leans harder against Ross, revels as he hears the breath being driven from him.
“This is what you wanted,” Brian repeats. “In this goddamn slip–I could practically see your dick hanging out. Probably could have if you weren’t nursing a half-chub just from my eyes on you, huh?”
“Brian,” Ross wheezes. “Oh, don’t–don’t tease me.”
This time Ross has to feel the smile, because he shudders against Brian, whines.
“Don’t tease,” Ross repeats, then keens when Brian rolls his hips hard enough to drive the air from Ross all over again.
“I’m confused as to what you want,” Brian says, fighting to keep his voice level with the arousal that threatens to break his zipper, scene be damned.
“I want–” Ross starts, pitch rising; Brian cuts him off by worming a hand between Ross and the wall, groping at the briefs doing their best to keep Ross decent.
“Ask nicely,” Brian warns, tightening his grip.
“Want you to fuck me,” Ross whines, repeats it more loudly before Brian can tell him to–”I want you to, to fuck me, fuck.”
But it can’t be that easy, not if Brian’s in charge, and Brian noses at the imprint of teeth he left on Ross’ neck as he asks, “And why’s that? Why do you want me to fuck you, Ross?”
There’s a pause, an outraged silence, a moment of utter non-comprehension, and like he’s talking to a student that didn’t do the reading, Brian thumbs the head of Ross’ dick through his briefs before leading with, “What kind of people wear short dresses and grind on older men, Ross? What kind of people begged to be fucked? Against a wall, no less, where anyone could walk in–”
“Sluts,” Ross interrupts, voice thick with his accent, his arousal. “Sluts beg to be fucked.”
Brian’s dick throbs painfully in his jeans; he has to swallow before he trusts his voice to be steady when he continues: “And what does that make you, Ross?”
For a moment Brian thinks Ross won’t say it, that he needs more lead-up, that he’s going to tap out, but then–
“I’m a slut,” he breathes.
Brian stifles a moan in the side of Ross’ neck.
