Wintergreen caging Slade against a brick wall outside a bar and making him suck on his gloved fingers (it's the only wetness he'll get) before jerking him off. He whispers filth into Slade's ear and kisses along his neck and the side of his face while rutting against his ass slowly. Methodically working his fingers around Slade's mouth while he diligently sucks on them and gets them as wet as he can. Part of Slade is debating debasing himself even further by rutting against the wall, if it weren't for Wintergreen's other hand clutching his hip tight for leverage to grind on him even harder, the outline of his hard cock through the fabric of both their pants unmistakable. Slade can't do anything other than brace himself against the side of the building, gasping out for breath and grasping Wintergreen's wrist tightly when he finally removes his hand once he deems them wet enough and gives Slade the friction he's been so desperately craving for however long his partner has been teasing him. He's disgusted at himself for letting Wintergreen take him like this, out in the open, outside of some seedy bar in the middle of nowhere, but... half of him thrills and his gut burns even hotter at the prospect that some drunk could come wandering out at any moment and discover them. Humiliating. Exhilarating. They'd die for the privilege of witnessing Slade being reduced to such a whining mess under Wintergreen's capable hands the moment he became lucid. Those perfect leather covered hands, coated in his own spit and precum, that were steadily stroking Slade as he squirmed in the older man's grasp. He tries to keep himself quiet to lessen the likelihood of them getting caught, his heavy breaths becoming shakier as the squelches from every torturous flick of Wintergreen's hand over his cock became more and more obscene. Wintergreen never stopped talking to him, pausing only to nibble and pull at Slade's ear. Murmuring praises while nuzzling into the crook of his neck from behind. Slade could feel him peering down to watch his own movements over Slade's prick, who prayed the flush overtaking his face wasn't visible in the dim lighting outside the bar. His arousal felt overwhelming. Wintergreen's own rubbed between his cheeks with increasing speed as he neared his peak, following close behind Slade who was dangerous close to reaching his own. "That's it, come apart for me, darling," and Slade did, spurting over and further dirtying those maddening gloves as well as the wall in front of him. Slade barely heard Wintergreen's strained british cadence proudly grunting out a good boy as he feel limp in his partner's hold. Wintergreen's grip on his hips becoming tighter as his hips quickened their pace against his backside with enough force to scrape the skin of his forearms and cheek along the rough brick. The cuts stung slightly even as they healed immediately until Wintergreen's aggressive thrusts finally slowed as he came in his trousers.
He lifted his ruined glove to Slade's face, wordlessly gesturing what he wanted him to do as Slade's hazy eye blinked until his vision focused. He licked over the palm of Wintergreen's hand in broad strokes, more akin to a loyal dog than a mercenary in that moment. Slade felt Billy's smile widen where it was pressed to his flushed cheek, endeared by the act somehow. Slade hollowed his cheeks over the digits entering his mouth for the second time that night, slobbering over them messily and running his tongue along the surface area of his fingers as quickly as he could, prefering to clean them to Wintergreen's standards sooner rather than later. He knew he should be ashamed of how enthusiastically he was sucking down and swallowing his own cum from those wonderfully long and talented fingers, but he couldn't bring himself to care all that much when Wintergreen caressed his hair so lovingly as he did. But he couldn't slow down now, no matter how nice it felt. He knew from personal experience that the longer this process went on the higher the chance of Slade wanting a second round by the end, and he was also well aware that they both needed to get some rest tonight. The taste of his own cum felt thick on his tongue and in the back of his throat. God he needed a drink. When Wintergreen was satisfied enough with Slade's work, he pulled his hand out with a wet pop and wiped the excess saliva off on Slade's flannel shirt before taking it off to store in his pocket. Typical.
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