Style decides to try some new things. After all this time, he still loves pulling reactions out of Fadel.
The result of my accumulated obsession over Fadel's shyness at the end of ep 5 and his eagerness at the end of ep 12.
Beta read by the lovely @hurlumerlu ( ˘ ³˘(◡‿◡ )
It's smut, so be sure to read the tags just in case :)
Style meant it when he said he deserved to die at Fadel’s hands. He never wanted any of this to happen. He could have told Fadel that he never personally spoke to the cop and didn't even know about Kant being coerced into becoming an informant or Fadel being a hitman until after they started dating. He could say that he simply agreed to seduce Fadel in exchange for a car.
Somehow, that sounds just as bad. And if he puts all the blame on Kant, that makes him more of a snitch. Style never even wanted to be a snitch.
“I really do love you,” Style says to him, keeping his eyes on the road, “Even when you point your gun at me, my heart flutters in my chest-”
“Shut up,” Fadel says, pressing the gun further into his side.
Style rolls his eyes at the order. As if Fadel would shoot him when he's the one in control of the car.
“I can't be quiet on car rides,” Style says, “It makes them go by too slowly. The music is great, but we already established that we have different tastes. Let's talk-”
“Style-”
“Fadel,” Style counters, “I’m bored. Let's talk.”
“I'm not going to talk to some fucking snitch.”
Style groans at that, “Whatever you tell me will die with me! You’ll make sure of that!”
“No.”
Apparently, Style will just have to deal with Fadel’s decision, so he focuses on the road until sunset. It's only when they are running on fumes that he pulls over.
“Did I say you could stop?” Fadel asks as Style pulls into the parking lot of a fuel station.
“I'm sorry,” Style says, hopping out, “I didn't realize your car runs on psychological, emotional, and sexual tension! You should have told me you were this environmentally friendly.”
“Get back in the car.”
“I'm serious. I'm proud of you,” Style says as he pulls his card out. He is a gentleman, after all. He is going to pay for everything on this impromptu trip, “Regular, right? Some people think they are pampering their car by getting a higher quality than they need. It's truly unnecessary. Please tell me you're not one of those people.”
Fadel says nothing. Maybe he is that kind of person and is just embarrassed. Style won't call his boyfriend out on it.
“I got you,” Style says with a grin, “You just relax!”
“Do not use your card.”
Style lets out a scoff, “I am a gentleman! I want to pay, I mean it-”
“So that your location can be tracked through your purchases?” Fadel asks suspiciously.
Oh. Style truly didn't think of that. This is another reason he loves Fadel. He's smart.
“Well, then how else am I supposed to take care of you?” Style asks, “I mean it, Fadel! I am a mechanic! Masculine and tough. A true man! It’s in my nature to take charge-”
“I have cash,” Fadel says, getting out as well, “Walk into the store. I am right behind you. Don’t think of doing anything stupid to try and get away from me.”
“That would be stupid because that's the last thing I want to do,” Style says, putting a hand on his hip. Despite this being the honest truth, Fadel looks unimpressed and continues to look that way until they pay in cash and go back to the car. Then, Fadel gets back in the passenger seat so that Style can take control as every higher being in existence intended. He presses Regular Unleaded, lifts the nozzle, and inserts it into the jeep. He then flicks the lever so it will automatically fill the tank and walks over and rests his arms on the rolled down window before smiling at Fadel adoringly. Because that's what he truly feels. Adoration and love, even now.
Maybe especially now.
“I really do love you,” Style says gently, “I'm sorry if my initially uninformed involvement in spying on you broke your heart and made you think otherwise. This is why I wanted you to tell me about your real career yourself! I wanted to help you out of whatever life you found yourself in! We could have run away together. Fled the country. I think Japan would have been good. I could work for Toyota there. You think they’d hire me?”
Fadel still says nothing. He's a man of such few words. Then again, Style likes that. If Fadel talked as much as he did, they would be interrupting each other all the time. He wishes Fadel would talk a little more though. Share things with him. Be vulnerable with him. Fadel might need a good cry. Once that thought enters his brain, Style knows it to be true. Maybe that should be his mission, to get Fadel to have a cathartic sob-fest where Style comforts him and tries his absolute best not to crack jokes.
“I think they would hire me,” Style continues, “Pa, too. I would need to bring him with us. He really likes you, you know! He likes you better than any other guy I’ve dated and he has happened to cross paths with. I mean…it's not hard. I’ve dated a couple of assholes. But he recognizes a good person when he sees one. He even told me he approved of you and wanted you around more often. He thinks you're a good influence and that you balance me out.”
In response, Fadel points the gun at Style’s face. Style smiles and kisses the tip of it sweetly. It's only then that Fadel jerks the gun back and looks at Style as if he has lost it.
He has lost it. For Fadel. This hiccup isn't going to get in the way of what he feels. He was afraid when he woke up by the pool, but now he has come to a decision. He's spending this trip with three goals in mind.
1. Find Kant - preferably not dead or seriously injured - and ensure he makes it home safe.
2. Find Bison and talk him down. He's pretty sure Bison is more dangerous than Fadel is. His prettiness and petite stature are both incredibly disarming and work in his favor. Style respects it.
3. Make it clear to Fadel that Style is unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him, like Bella was in love with Edward in Twilight. Their relationship probably isn't even as toxic as theirs. There is no creepy, Italian vampire council or ninety year age gap, although Fadel may currently thirst for his blood. But that doesn't matter. If Bella and Edward can overcome all those things and magically conceive a child, then Style and Fadel can too.
“Why are you just staring at me? Why did you kiss my gun? What is wrong with you?”
Style snaps out of his dreamy thoughts and ambitions as he meets Fadel’s glare.
“I was just thinking of us magically conceiving a baby.”
Fadel’s glare turns into a bewildered, slightly disturbed gawk. He's warming up to him again. Style is sure of it.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Style grins, wide and unrestrained, tilting the seat back as far as it will go. He shuts his eyes, but his mouth keeps moving. “Seriously, Fadel, you should sleep too. You look exhausted. People are going to think you’re the one being held at gunpoint here.”
-
Fadel just wants to find his brother. But a certain someone keeps distracting him.
This is nothing like the drug dealer, not quite as close to his heart, close to his parent's near-vacant home that is occupied by just him, his little brother, and the fleeting customers that pass by.
-
When Bison says, "I'll cover your mouth if you're loud," Kant's breath hitches under Bison's hand, he can't help it. Bison's smile facing him makes him nearly shiver involuntarily, too. The sudden influx of emotions, how tight-wound he is, has him frozen. "I like it."
What (possibly) happens after that episode 5 scene.
(aka lots of freaky stuff and kant guilt) 6k, also on ao3
"How are you, Babe?" is when the words from Bison's mouth crush him the worst. When he realizes with startling clarity that Bison had rushed all the way here not just for him, but for his little brother—the same little brother Kant had spent his life protecting. Just a minute before, Bison's hand held the trigger with certainty, ready to end Kant and Babe's lives should he need to.
Kant breathes for Babe, and doesn't know what he would do without him. There are times, deep in the dark recesses of his mind, where he waits for Babe to be independent, but Kant will never forgive himself if Babe doesn't survive this operation.
This is nothing like the drug dealer, not quite as close to his heart, close to his parent's near-vacant home that is occupied by just him, his little brother, and the fleeting customers that pass by. At the very least, Captain had provided him with safe accommodations during his time working his other operations, provided some semblance of safety. The bastard is throwing him away this time, like discarded trash. Often, in the recesses of his bedroom, the burning yellow light, he wonders if Captain is trying to rid of him as evidence too.
He is swimming again, but the current is the worst he has ever felt. The waves crash into him every which way, and no matter how he turns, it becomes harder and harder to breathe. When his parents died, the waves foamed in bubbles, and despite how scary everything looked, it was almost beautiful— the sea. A pearlescent blue, the bubbles rushing up his nose as he spit them out. And he swam, and swam, even when they found him half-awake and shaking violently. His eyes were half-lidded and open. The beauty of it terrified him. He could never be content with something that could be so perfect, so minacious.
Now Babe is lying for him. The situation with James has been resolved, but Kant can still see no way out. He can't tell Bison now; he never could. Kant is calculated and has survived for many reasons—he knows that Fadel would find him no matter where he hid as soon as he found out. He would get no second chance. He's found out their plan. It will be over soon.
But Bison. His bowling shirt, with the B that matches his K, and his soft features that stare imploring at him. Kant can't look at him for too long—he can't conflate the two Bisons he knows to be.
No.
There is only one, he tries to tell himself. Bison is dating him; he is stubborn and unbearably cute. He always tries to steal Kant's food at restaurants when he isn't looking even though Kant will always let him eat it if he just asks. Bison is a murderer. Bison's hands are unbearably light on his arm before they drift off to sleep, stroking up and down, up and down. Those same hands have been drenched in blood.
He needs him. He is afraid of him.
Kant tries to look, tries to muffle his feelings as best as he can.
When Bison asks, "Did I scare you?" he can't bring himself to answer for various reasons. One, it's a calculated move, because he still has to be careful, and though Bison trusts him, he can't fuck this up now—not with Babe home, not ever. Two, he truly is terrified, but because he had thought he would have time to think all of this through. But now Bison is here, at his home, and he has no time, nothing to do but breathe his scent in all night, and think about how he's supposed to live without him.
His heart beats like a hummingbird and he thinks he might pass out, but he knows he looks more composed than he feels. Hopes. He's unsure of most things now.
When Bison says, "I'll cover your mouth if you're loud," Kant's breath hitches under Bison's hand, he can't help it. Bison's smile facing him makes him nearly shiver involuntarily, too. The sudden influx of emotions, how tight-wound he is, has him frozen. "I like it."
Kant's eyes flit around to make sure that Babe is nowhere to be found. "You…like it, huh?" he asks, trying to swallow the lump in his throat, to sound confident.
"Mmm," Bison hums, a twinkle in his eye. The hand that had covered his mouth was running down to his chin, fingers running over the warmed skin, then tapped twice with a pleased smile, so Kant must have provided him with the perfect response in his expression. For his part, he felt lightheaded already, breath heady. The pads of Bison's index and middle finger trace down his Adam's apple and then around, until they slightly surround his neck.
With the hand still on his shoulder, Bison pushes him, guiding him—not shoving, moving him as if he's in a trance until his back is pressed against the wall. And he may as well be—he can't look anywhere else except Bison's brown eyes, the glisten of his mouth, then back up. His skin feels sticky and his shirt slides against his lower back as he presses against the bricks. The fingers on his neck rub around once as the rest of his hand joins the two fingers, then rub twice, what he doesn't notice is a warning.
Before he can prepare himself, Bison's fingers have already squeezed tight around his throat, constricting the air for a split second, and then released it again. "I like it," he emphasizes when Kant gasps tinnily. His mouth is splayed open slightly when Bison slats his thigh between Kant's legs, his hand still pressed against him.
"Bison," he breathes out, licking at his lips, desperately realizing that he wished he was licking into Bison's instead. Lord. "That was new," he notes because that's all he can think to do.
"It seems like you liked it," Bison whispers in his ear. Nips at the lobe.
"A little," Kant can reluctantly admit. He doesn't know why he says it the way he does, but it's the most honest he's sounded to Bison. He doesn't outright exclaim that it thrilled him, like the slapping had, or the clothes pins. By now, things had changed, though. But coincidentally, it is also the thing that had sent the clearest bit of heat to his belly. And how fucked up is it that it is him being strangled?
He doesn't know if it's from all of this waiting, Bison's insufferable taunting, but something inside of him is cracking more and more. He finds himself desperate to be honest, more than ever, which has become dangerous.
Kant thinks Bison stiffens a little and wonders with a chill if he's made a critical mistake, but then Bison is smiling up at him, running a single fingertip over his lower lip. He shivers and closes his eyes. "Come on."
—
The room smells like the open air and Bison's cologne, a vanilla and teakwood mixture. It is heady and warm, the window letting in the slight breeze through the paper-thin curtains that his parents had left behind. Kant already can't breathe past the ghost of Bison's touch on his neck as he tries to breathe in.
But Bison isn't touching him now. Instead, they are kissing, and Bison is only leaning forward on each hand and his knees. Every other second, he will pull his lips away and they will make a tiny smack sound that will send a twinge to his groin. The kissing is too slow, but Kant is not stupid, he knows it is purposeful, that Bison is just teasing him, that he is completely at his whim, as always.
"Can I," Kant asks when he thinks he can't take it anymore, testing the water and sliding a hand up Bison's bicep for a split second. As anticipated, the hand is quickly slapped away, and Bison sits back on his heels. "I didn't think so," Kant can't help but smile before he even realizes what he's doing.
Bison smirks back for a split second before it is replaced by a look of disapproval. "Well, I think it's only fair to do this with how worried you had me tonight."
The deeper guilt bubbles up and Kant tries to shove it down as he always does. "I'm sorry," he says, just at the surface. He tries to pout.
"You can show me how sorry you are," Bison states and Kant's spine goes rigid. With that, Bison guides Kant to lie down, his head against the pillows, their lips melding together once, twice. Kant tries to breathe, but it becomes Bison's, all of it, and all he can do is grip at the nape of Bison's neck and try to take him all in, ignoring the primal fear biting at the back of his throat, that Bison is nearly going to take it all.
A tiny moan escapes his mouth as Bison suddenly scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip and pulls sharply. The skin stings and makes Kant arch his neck out unconsciously, goosebumps forming over his skin.
"You're already making noise?" Bison says with a slightly surprised tone, glancing down at him. He does look thoroughly pleased that he's been able to throw Kant off his axis again. There is a glint in his eyes and a slight pink tint on his cheeks. "Wonderful," he preens, shifting Kant's shirt up at the bottom enough to show most of his abdomen.
Then Bison touches, walking his fingers up, gliding down, sliding from side to side. It makes his muscles tremble, the movement nearly too much and too little touch at once. Bison watches him with his darkened eyes, and takes in the way Kant's body reacts to each touch. He is laying him bare and analyzing him, and it is only going to get more intense—Kant knows that Bison never does anything with half effort.
Kant can only blink up at him, taking in how slow and intentional Bison's touches are. This time, Bison isn't drunk, Kant hadn't done the unforgivable to him. Bison is fully awake and is prepared to punish him, touch him how he sees fit. Kant's spine goes tense at the thought, and damn it, of course, Bison notices that something is wrong nearly immediately. Kant had let his guard down too much.
Bison pauses for a split second, then places a few fleeting kisses along Kant's jaw, then sits back up. "I don't think the first time was the best introduction…" Bison starts, the barest hint of a smile on his face as he traces a few lines up and down Kant's chest. It betrays his nerves, and Kant braves it enough to place a comforting hand on Bison's thigh. "I'm sorry. I'll keep better control this time because I'm not drunk."
Kant smiles, the guilt hitting his chest again. Tries not to think about how well Bison seems to know him despite how much Kant is hiding from him. His hand twitches against Bison's thigh and Bison places his own there too, squeezing it. The pressure there is nearly enough to undo him completely.
Bison is beautiful like the sea. Kant is scared of him. Kant needs him.
"I understand. I appreciate you telling me," Kant says, trying to swallow. He reaches a hand up to stroke at Bison's cheek for a split second, watching his long eyelashes flutter close and savoring the smooth feeling before letting his fist fall to the bed again.
Bison nods with finality and then finally straddles him, each hand on his shoulders. It nearly takes Kant's breath away from the start, even though Bison pointedly leaves his hips far enough away to just barely touch him. Kant throws his head back and sighs out with pleasure, like a man starved. Bison hums, satisfied.
Kant doesn't know how Bison has done this to him.
He knows how to play the game slightly; he grasps at Bison's head gently, caressing the sides of his face and bringing their lips together— not taking too much. Bison seems to allow it for the moment, and they kiss for long, languid minutes, and the only sounds are their breathing and the insects outside.
Even though Kant feels like he is itching out of his skin, he stays still save for savoring the feeling of Bison's hair, his cheeks, his neck. Then, the bites of his lower lip start. Once, soft. Twice, three times, harder and harder.
Bison peels them apart, gripping Kant's head with his smaller hands. Kant can only look up with glazed eyes. "Do not fucking move," Bison hisses, his voice sharp, and Kant barely has time to process before he is completely lowering his hips and grinding them together with a low groan.
Kant gasps. He bites at his own knuckles and tries, he tries, but the second time Bison rolls his hips up against his, his own jerk up in response, craving the friction again. His dick is painfully hard and has been for the last ten minutes, so the movement feels like a brief success.
Bison hums in disappointment and the movement completely stops, sending a chill throughout Kant's spine. He realizes that they finally started moving, but he hadn't realized that Bison was taunting him but not even touching him before. It was going to be worse now.
Kant's knuckle hurts from his teeth, but a few seconds later, Bison has swatted it away anyhow. He holds his gaze as he takes one of Kant's wrists, then the second, and pins them above Kant's head. "I did say I would stop you from making noise, didn't I? What are you doing shutting yourself up?"
His mouth is completely dry. God. "You did say that."
Bison nods, satisfied. He lets Kant's wrists go, and Kant groans, suddenly realizing how much pressure had been placed there when he was focused on only Bison. "Well. I'm going to ask you to do something. Can you do that for me?" he asks, his voice deep.
"Yes," Kant says. He takes Bison in, this whirlwind of a man. His dark hair is mussed where Kant had been tugging at it, and there is still that twinge of pink, that he hopes is from him and not just the warm air. A sheen of sweat shines on the nape of his neck and Kant wants to do nothing more but lick it off.
But Bison has other plans. He grins and takes Kant's hands in his own. He rubs at Kant's fingers, then places them on his hips. "Take my shirt off for me. Then take yours off."
Despite the heat in the air and how desperate Kant is, he takes a long moment to bring Bison's shirt over his head, allowing himself the briefest moments to touch his boyfriend's skin as he slides up his torso. When he's done, he lets his hand slowly drop, dragging along his side and staring into Bison's eyes. Bison blinks up at him, and Kant almost, almost smirks. But he doesn't, and Bison cracks.
Kant rips his shirt off a little quicker because just after, Bison pulls him into a quick, fevered kiss. A huff leaves him as they collapse back into the bed, their hands roaming all over. Kant leaves one against Bison's lower back, keeping him solidly in place, even as he tries to place kisses up and down his chest. He makes a satisfied noise when Bison starts to suck a small mark into his neck, then licks over it once to ease the pain.
Bison tears away from Kant's mouth and sits back on his lap. He looks thoroughly wrecked, his mouth swollen and red, and what strands of hair were in place before are completely in array. Kant would feel pleased with himself if it weren't for the steely look in Bison's eyes.
"You distracted me for a little bit," Bison mutters quietly, feeling Kant's chest. "But I still have a goal for tonight."
With that, he grips Kant's wrists again and places them above his head. This time, Kant keeps them there due to the strength of Bison's gaze alone. Bison licks his kiss-mussed lips and smiles down at Kant, his chest bared open for him.
Kant notices that his breathing has picked up pace, glancing down at his own chest. The tattoo is visibly rising and falling with no particular pace—just fast.
Bison runs both hands up Kant's chest, until they are flush together, reaching to each side of the bed. Kant feels like he suddenly stops breathing, which nearly knocks him out. In Bison's hands are strips of the restraints he had used before, the red ropes meant for his arms. Bison has spent the night a few times when Babe was gone, but Kant isn't sure where he had hidden the restraints before, or when.
"I'm going to tie you up this time," Bison notes almost casually. Strangely, the fear hasn't hit him like it had last time. "I don't want you to stop yourself. I'll be here to cover your noise."
He bites down on Kant's shoulder hard. Kant hisses and a pained moan escapes his throat.
Before he can try to grasp onto Bison, take some semblance of control back, Bison has taken his right arm in his grasp. He takes the rope and loops it around and around, tightening it even tighter than the last time. The red rope shines against his skin, a stark reminder that he is tethered there, to Bison. Kant doesn't think that he can undo the knots himself once both are tied.
The thought—
The thought exhilarates him.
Now, Bison has moved onto his nipples, touching each with the pads of his thumbs. Kant gasps with each roll, but when Bison pinches with his fingertips, he seems to revel in the hisses his boyfriend makes in response. Bison's pupils are wide watching Kant come undone underneath him, at the attention he is receiving.
"Bison," Kant breathes out. The word leaves him, but he's not sure what he's asking for—not at all.
His boyfriend seems to understand though—he nods, and immediately reaches over for his overnight bag, ruffling around for a second. When he sits back up, he is rolling something metal in his hands that he doesn't recognize.
"What are…"
Bison hums absentmindedly, rubbing a thumb along his nipple again. "You'll see." With a brief thought, he decides to lean down and after a quick, cold huff of breath, lick over his Kant's nipple. Kant's hips buck up at the sudden sensation and his eyes shutter closed. "Oh," he says, perhaps a little louder than he had meant to. Everything is heightened now, on edge, and he doesn't know if it's because of the restraints around him or not. Either way, he feels every huff of breath as Bison licks and moves his way to the other nipple, providing the same amount of attention, peppering it with tiny bites too. Bison is rewarded with a small moan every time Bison does so, which encourages him to do it more frequently until tears spring into Kant's eyes.
When Bison emerges again, Kant's hands are shaking in fists at the pillow and his eyes are squeezed shut. He only opens them as Bison taps his chest to gain his attention. "I think you really like that," Bison reports with a satisfied grin.
Kant can only weakly shrug and try to catch his breath. Bison smiles and hovers over him, meeting his mouth and Kant tries his best to meet him with fervor, but Bison is staying infuriatingly slow, which is eliciting noises from Kant as well—the longer time goes on, the more he goes mad. His cock is pressing hard against Bison's ass with each slide that Bison makes up and down, grinding down on him, but Kant can't free himself from his restraints, can't touch himself, can't touch Bison—
"You are getting a little louder," Bison notes, with a little pleasure in his voice. "But I have an idea." Desperately, Kant opens his eyes when he feels Bison's hands fumble with the button of his pants, unzipping them and pulling them down. Kant raises his hips, desperately helping Bison as he takes his underwear off too, and his cock springs free. Bison does the same to himself, and it is torture that Kant can't take Bison's clothes off for him, can only watch as Bison steps out of his underwear and takes hold of his own cock, rubbing the precum over the tip with a shudder, then stroking a few times. Kant can only watch, hypnotized.
"My idea," Bison says after he's touched himself for a moment. He walks around the bed to reach in the drawer and pulls out something else—something small and round. Something Kant recognizes. "Is this."
"Bison," Kant pleads, but before he can get any further words out, the cock ring is already slipping over the head of Kant's dick, and Bison's hand is sliding it down, and down until it's settled at the nape. He gives Kant's cock a satisfied tug, smiling widely when his hips buck up wildly in response and he lets out a choked noise. "Bison!"
"Hmm?" Bison asks. He bats his eyelashes at Kant, who can only groan and close his own eyes, trying to save himself from further torture.
But Bison won't let him go that easy. He grips Kant's chin with his thumb and forefinger tightly. "Look at me," he demands and then slips down the bed. Kant, his breath hitching, can't help but obey, wincing as Bison's hand slips around his dick again, then his mouth.
"Oh, oh god." Kant moans, and his hands both jerk, trying to grab hold of Bison's head as he sucks on Kant's dick once and cries out when he can't take hold of him. Bison hums with what can only be satisfaction around his dick, and then he starts to suck sloppily, leaving a trail of saliva down his shaft as he glances up at Kant between his eyelashes.
The time passes torturously. His heart pounds in his throat as Bison sucks him down, then licks at the tip at his cock. He'll pause for a long moment, just long enough for Kant to groan in frustration, before taking him down with fervor once more.
Kant can barely look at him, the tears building in Bison's eyes as he takes Kant deeper, the stretch of his lips. Every once in a while, Kant attempts to grasp at him, only to be reminded of the restraints. He doesn't know why, but this time the restrictions have a heat building in his lower belly.
The fear is still there. But Christ, Bison looks so beautiful on his knees the way he is, and Kant can do nothing but watch him. The water is rising up to his neck. The barrel is once again pointed straight at him, and he's looking it dead center. All he can do is gasp and try to face it head-on. There is nothing else to be done.
At the thought, and the feeling of Bison taking him down to the back of his throat, Kant keens, louder than before. Bison hums and as if prepared, reaches his hand up. Just as before, he covers Kant's mouth, but this time presses with solid force. Kant is forced to breathe through his nose. Although Bison is muffling his noises, the action of covering his mouth only causes his moans to crescendo into his throat.
He isn't sure how much time has passed—it could have been an hour, for how torturous it has been, feeling like he could come but is unable to—and Bison is holding his hips still, the noises echoing in the quiet room, save for Kant's labored breaths and smothered moans. the dim haze of his own pleasure, he begins to notice that Bison has begun squirming on top of him and then all of a sudden the heat is gone, and so is Bison's hand on his mouth. "No," Kant says on instinct, his hips reaching up for anything, desperate for Bison again.
He meets Bison's eyes, feeling crazed. Bison is smirking down at him now. "Watch, Kant," he orders and sticks both fingers into his mouth. Kant blinks, his brain short-circuiting as Bison sucks them down, then reaches to his own ass. He arches his back up, and Kant can't get a perfect view, but he can see that Bison sticks both fingers in at the same time, causing him to emit a guttural moan. He sticks Kant's dick back in his mouth at the same moment, causing Kant's whole body to spasm. He starts to prep himself, eyes closed in ecstasy as if this is where he belongs, taking in Kant's dick, getting ready to take it.
"Bison, please, I want to fuck you," Kant begs, way too soon, and Bison had probably wanted to entice him to beg himself, but he thinks that Bison looks happy with himself either way, his mouth around Kant's dick and a hand on his thigh, grasping on with bruising force. His mouth pops off, leaving the skin chilled. He uses the back of his arm to wipe his mouth off and Kant only has the strength to close his eyes. But when he hears the crinkle of the condom wrapper, his eyelids snap back open. He thanks the entire universe when Bison starts to stroke the rubber over his cock, watching with rapt attention. "If you insist," he answers him, tone serious.
Bison moves to sit on Kant's lap, his fingers freed. Kant thinks he may finally take him in when Bison points the tip right at his hole, so close. Kant wonders if he might come with the ring on, or possibly die right then. But then, Bison doesn't move; he instead grabs the item he had pulled out earlier, the item Kant had completely forgotten about by now.
He pinches one of Kant's nipples. With startling clarity, he realizes that they must be nipple clamps attached to a chain, but before he can be sure, Bison is already hovering both over his nipples simultaneously, with his mouth over Kant's just a centimeter away.
"I'm going to put these on. They're going to make you feel so good," Bison tells him, and Kant whimpers—he whimpers, but he doesn't even know anymore if it's from fear, or from pleasure, or anticipation.
Simultaneously, Bison places the clamps on and sits on his dick, covering his mouth as Kant cries out. Tears build immediately at the corner of his eyes from the pain of the clamps on his nipples, but Bison is quickly raking his fingernails down Kant's chest the next second, leaving a burning pain on the skin. He rises up and slams down, and Kant can barely breathe from the combination of pain and pleasure.
Thankfully, right after, Bison gives him a break, for just a second, but it only lasts for a quick second, enough for Kant to blink and meet Bison's eyes. "I-haaa," the hiss comes out louder than he expected when Bison wiggles his hips. "Wait. I didn't— I didn't want— to be louder, remember?" Kant pleads as Bison rises and falls on his lap, and it doesn't seem like the other man hears him at all.
This is nothing like the clothes pins—these are plastic and harder, and Bison is not being gentle this time. As he rides him, sweat building up over his torso and between them, he takes hold of the chain between the set. Kant gets no warning before he gently tugs. The force is enough to cause Kant to thrust up harshly into Bison's body. Bison moans in pleasure and does it once more, but muffling Kant's moans again with his mouth.
The pain is almost too much, but with Bison riding him, it is a different kind of pain, one that he is willing to take. Like this, he wants to take whatever Bison will give him. He pants, watching the beautiful man above him, the sheen of his glowing skin, the taut muscles of his arm holding his mouth closed. It's enough to make his mouth flutter closed again. With another tug of the clamps, his eyelids slam shut, trying to accept it, to not pass out right there. His cock aches, impossibly hard as Bison takes him in over and over.
Bison's head is thrown back, his neck arched enticingly, and Kant wants to bite him, mark him up as much as he can, but he just can't, all he can do is watch Bison take him over and over again.
"Bison, what the hell," Kant complains, and he doesn't even care for that split second that he is supposed to be who he is at that moment. Bison is stripping him more and more bare by the second, and soon there will be nothing left.
"Mmm," Bison moans, letting go of the clamps and running his hands down Kant's heaving chest, then belly. The touch is soft this time, impossibly, and it almost stings. Kant almost can't endure the feeling and tries to twist away.
"Please," Kant moans softly, looking up at him, eyes glassy. Bison leans down and kisses behind his ear. He swirls his tongue on the skin of his neck and slows his pace down but squeezes Kant's hips with his fingernails, stinging. Kant shudders.
Bison groans lowly, and Kant knows that he's hit the spot he needs to. Taking advantage, he thrusts up one more time, harshly. Bison gasps in surprise, nearly collapsing against him. He sits up in a swift moment and before Kant knows what has happened, he has tugged sharply at the nipple clamps.
A scream tears from his throat, but Bison has shoved one of their shirts into his mouth, covering the noise. Tears start to run down his face as Bison starts to ride him in earnest this time because even though Kant had gone against Bison's game, Kant knows he had won, even slightly. He had thrown Bison off.
Bison's breaths were coming sharply now, and his hand wrapped around his dick where it rested, rock-hard between them, stroking earnestly. His moans are achingly beautiful. Kant tried to breathe around the cotton, saliva soaking the fabric. His whole body ached from the exertion, his arms were absolutely screaming at him to grab onto Bison and from the tension he had placed on them the entire time.
When Bison comes, all he does is moan and shudder, come splashing across Kant's chest. For a long moment, he pauses, getting his bearings together, his hands still on Kant's chest, riding out his pleasure. Kant stays still, but wants nothing more than to move his hips—they are nearly moving of their own accord.
Then Bison smiles at him.
He releases the t-shirt from Kant's mouth and Kant takes in a deep breath. Nearly immediately, he unclips the nipple clamps, and Kant keens from the loss. All Kant can do is look straight at Bison, who is glowing with orgasm and rubbing gently at Kant's nipples now, trying to soothe them.
Kant doesn't think Bison would truly intend to hurt him like this, hurt him with malice, in the way Kant feels he deserves. But he doesn't know. That's the problem. He has to convince Style to let Fadel go to jail. Worst of all, he has to convince himself, too, when Bison is atop him and cherishing him like this.
He swallows the bitter taste down, but it keeps coming back up, like bile. Trying to look away, he freezes when Bison turns his chin, meeting his eyes. He kisses him softly. Kant can't breathe.
"You know, I did say I prefer to be in charge," Bison claims out of nowhere. "But I know you do too," he makes a teasing face, as if deep in thought, grinding down once unexpectedly. Kant's hand grips at his ass desperately. He can barely understand him at this point but tries his best to decipher the words coming out. Bison smirks. "And that day, I had never been fucked so good." He leaned down again, pressing a kiss to his sweat-stained neck. That elicited a moan from both of them, so all Kant could do was try to hold them flush together with his legs, their chests heaving.
"Can you get to the point?" Kant asks, pleading, feeling ashamed and wound tight at the time. He isn't sure what he feels anymore. "I— please—"
"I think I've come to realize I like a little give and take here," Bison surmised, and Kant was so, so fucking frustrated at how composed he was while he was wrecked the way he was. But maybe it wasn't Bison's fault, the way he grew up, what he had done, what the captain had done, that Kant had fallen—
"I don't know what that means, Bison," Kant ground up, trying to push his hips up, while Bison slammed them down into the bed with his own.
"It means," he said against his mouth. Kant froze against his lips at the sudden change in tone. It was low, needy, finally, finally exposing how raw Bison has been feeling this whole time— "I want you to take charge now. I had my turn, so please, do what you want with me."
It takes Kant all of two seconds of staring at him with wide eyes before the dots connect completely. He notices that the restraints have been removed at some point, his wrists aching, and it only takes him a second longer to move.
With one arm around Bison's waist, Kant surges forward and flips them over, Bison huffing as he hits the mattress. With a curse, Kant removes the cock ring and tosses it across the room. It hits the wall with a thud and Kant lines himself up again and thrusts in with a harsh groan, both meeting each other until they are flush. Bison tries to keep him there for a moment, but Kant doesn't let him, simply turns his head to the side with his nose and bites at Bison's neck once, and thrusting in again.
Bison makes a surprised noise, but Kant knows it isn't a bad one. He grips the back of Bison's neck, holding him in place as he pounds against Bison's ass with fervor.
Kant wants to make him beg, wants to make him plead like he has all night, but he just can't. His body is wound up too tight, and his heart is ground up into pieces. "You have made me wait so, so long," Kant mutters instead, his damp hair falling down over his forehead as he thrusts in, harder and harder. It is said half with desperation and half with anger, thinking how this will be one of the last times. "God dammit," he leans down, touching their foreheads together and taking hold of Bison to kiss him deeply.
Bison moans, licking into his mouth. He doesn't know anything. Kant wants to keep him there—despite everything he knows, he wants Bison. He doesn't know what to do.
The pleasure builds up until he can't take it anymore and with a final shudder, Kant comes, his body jerking into Bison. He bites Bison's skin, trying to keep himself together, but everything shatters at that moment.
They collapse together into a pile of limbs, sweating and trying to catch their breath. Kant is holding onto Bison now, still keeping a grip on his face and pressing their mouths together. They aren't even kissing at that point, just breathing each other in, but Kant is desperate to feel him, even for this little bit.
He knows he will have to go back to his act, and Bison will smile brightly at him, tell him that he saw his favorite cat that morning. Kant will feel a warmth in his chest that will bloom until the waves crash into him, and take him down again. He will of course smile because he is so unbearably fond of Bison. They are one and the same, the Bison that is with him now, and the Bison planning on killing soon.
But he is the one that is betraying Bison, isn't he?
He starts to think that maybe Bison isn't the sea. Maybe it's him, has been inside of him since the crash, eating him alive, drowning him.
"I also think I like riling you up," Bison notes, his breaths still running heavy a half hour later. Kant still can't move, except to grasp at his hand, trying to keep him right there, even though Bison isn't the one leaving him. Not on purpose.
Would you please recommend good fics of FK characters especially of Kant Bison?
For Kant/Bison, these are some of my fav (so far)
Teacher’s Pet (ongoing) by the amazing @firstkanaphans (you should also read her one shot of Kant/Bison portraying their ONS in a different way)
After the storm by hotlemontea - what if Bison left Kant in the car trunk and disappeared for good? It’s about second chance and I thought I was it nicely done
Platonic, romantic and comedic by putmeonsuiciddwatch - it has 3 interconnecting stories so far. Pure crack and focusing on Kant and Style friendship but of course with KantBison and StyleFadel as well. I remember chuckling my way through the whole time while reading these stories
Shakespeare’s in Love by @semantics-error - each episode gets a remake/redo with Dom/Sub elements, angsty in some parts. But I find the connection with Shakespeare quite interesting. So, if Dom/Sub is your gem, this will be up your alley.
If anyone has more good fics, please feel free to tell me (and others!!) 🤍🧡
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: เขาจ้างให้ผมจีบนักฆ่า | The Heart Killers (Thailand TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Kant & Style (The Heart Killers), Bison & Fadel (The Heart Killers), Fadel/Style (The Heart Killers)
Characters: Style (The Heart Killers), Bison (The Heart Killers), Fadel (The Heart Killers), Kant (The Heart Killers), ft - Character, Babe (The Heart Killers), Original Characters, for world-building purposes
Additional Tags: since everyone else is being held accountable for things they have done so should fadel, As much as I love him, style gets a bit introspective here and fadel feels guilty, but we have bison pov!! so that should be nice, also kant gets arrested, also the real reason i wrote this happens in the 3k-4k part, Fluff and Angst and Crack, not as much crack as before but there is an ok amount, trying to make sense of style's relationship with his father, no beta we die like fadel and bison's victims, pls help me formatt, justice for style in ep4!!, Warnings: minor animal death mentioned, and someone tries to proposition style offscreen but nothing comes of it, also why do tags have a length limit, bg kantbison
Series: Part 2 of Platonic, Romantic and Comedic
Summary:
“Style said that something happened at Heart Burger today. What was it?”
Fadel shuffles his feet in guilty thought. He was not sure how to phrase ‘I ripped Style’s shirt with kitchen scissors, tried to kick him out during peak hours in front of all the customers and gave him an apron to wear in recompense when he told he cannot walk out without a shirt’ but he tried anyway.
Bison does not know where to begin. Fadel could have given Style one of their extra waiter shirts. Fadel should not have done that to Style in front of people. What led to Fadel cutting off Style's shirt like that in the first place? He could have said any of the above statements but what actually came out was, “I did not expect you to be an exhibitionist.”
Alternatively:
Fadel faces the implications of his actions, Bison coughs his way through the first part of the story, Style gets a little introspective and Kant gets arrested for a while.
