This will get rougher in later chapters, I promise! In the meantime, have some slightly-more-serious-than-I-intended buildup to the smut.
By the time he walked out of the convenience store, clutching his purchases (which now included some chocolate, chewing gum, apple juice, a ladies' gossip magazine, a bag of potatoes, two cans of Pepsi and some watch batteries; all of which had been on sale so clearly had been money well-spent), Haytham was having second thoughts. And third thoughts. And fourth, fifth and sixth thoughts.
Jesus, this was a shitty idea. Charles' creepy tendencies were nothing more than the unfortunate side-effect of being completely fucking mental. Sex wouldn't fix it, what on earth had made him think that? It must have been the caffeine deprivation. Or the nine hours he'd spent in that bloody office, trying to figure out both the identity of The Sellout and a way to get back at Washington. Or the suspicious mushroom noodles William had offered him for lunch.
…Bugger. He should have known those weren't really shiitake mushrooms. Damn William and his illegal lunches!
Haytham sighed. He'd spent almost thirty dollars on lubricant (There were two kinds? Why? He'd bought some of each type to be safe.) and condoms and a half-price cock ring he'd thought for three whole minutes might come in handy. The cashier's face had been a picture. He hadn't been able to look Haytham in the eyes, and had looked terrified when Haytham addressed him by name, Leonardo, apparently forgetting he wore a name badge.
He trudged wearily onwards. Thirty dollars wasted. He'd only end up shoving the damn things into his bedside table until either Connor or Charles started poking around and got the wrong idea, or until he got too depressed about his non-existent sex life and threw them away.
Charles in the kitchen when Haytham entered the apartment.
"Connor's gone to Desmond's house," Charles called, his voice still a little rough. Haytham rounded the corner and sure enough, the man was sitting at the table, nursing some tea. He was wrapped in a fluffy dressing-gown, hair still damp from bathing. He was, at least, freshly shaven and wearing a different pair of pyjamas than he had been that morning.
"Oh?"
"Something about pasta. Or pizza. Italian things, at any rate." Haytham prayed to gods he did not believe in that Charles would stop there. No such luck.
"Delicious Italian things," Charles added, in a manner that could have made "the vicar's coming to tea, grandmother" sound incredibly perverted.
Damn him! Damn him to hell! How the hell had he even made that innuendo? Why the hell had he made that innuendo?!
"Did you get the bananas, like I asked?" Charles said, innocently.
Oh. Oh, that was it.
Fuck everything. His earlier plan was back in action.
Haytham strode to the table, and slammed the bag on the table as best he could. It was, after all, a plastic bag, and thus rather difficult to slam. He took out the bananas, and put them in front of Charles.
"Thank you," Charles said, reaching out to take one. Haytham slapped his hand away. Bastard.
"Not yet," he snapped. He tossed the condoms next to the fruit, and then the lubricants and the cock ring as well and oh shit Charles had that look oh his face, the look that meant he knew what was going to happen and he liked it.
"Oh," Charles began, a wicked grin blossoming across his face. "Well, Hay--"
"This is what's going to happen," Haytham interrupted. "I'm going to fuck you until you literally can't stand, and you are never, ever going to eat a banana in front of me again."
Charles frowned at the last part.
"I don't understand. Why can't I eat bananas in front of you?"
"Just take your trousers off," Haytham said.
"Do you even know what you're doing?" Charles looked slightly worried. Good. He should be.
"I googled it," Haytham replied, crossing his arms.
"I'm not sure this is going to go well," Charles said. "Why don't I do the fucking, and you--"
"I'm not going to offer this twice, Charles."
Charles looked like a deer caught in headlights. On one hand, having sex with Haytham. On the other, quite probably getting fairly severely injured whilst having sex with Haytham.
Charles couldn't discard his dressing-gown fast enough, and Haytham gave him a biting kiss in return. One turned into another and even though Charles mostly tasted of medicine and his facial hair was scratchy against his skin, it felt far too good to do something. He pressed Charles against the table, and Charles obediently clambered up, pushing his pants down. Haytham shucked his coat off, and helped Charles free his legs from the bunched-up fabric. And paused.
Oh god, Charles was half-hard already. What the fuck had he been thinking? This was a terrible idea, an absolutely awful idea, a-- oh shit, he was staring wasn't he? Well, it'd been a long time! It wasn't as though he had much experience with erections that didn't belong to him. Actually, he didn't have any experience with erections that didn't belong to him. It was perfectly understandable if he was a little nerv-- no, no, he was still staring. Fuck.
Charles cleared his throat loudly. Haytham glanced up, to meet his eyes. There was just a tinge of red colouring Charles' cheeks, and he looked… not displeased, but certainly somewhat disappointed.
"Second thoughts?" Charles asked, quietly. Haytham let out a tiny laugh, a horribly manic, tiny laugh. He had no idea what he was doing, and Charles would never let him live it down if he admitted it. Keep calm and carry on.
"Fuck, no!" he managed, sounding utterly unconvincing.
…All right, then, carry on at least.
He tugged the fabric over Charles' ankles and leant in for another kiss, only for Charles to turn his head away and press a hand against his chest.
"What brought this on?" Charles asked, looking serious. "You've never shown any interest in this sort of thing before."
"Does it matter?" Haytham replied.
"Yes," Charles answered, simply.
"Well, I don't think it does," Haytham said. He picked up the water-based lube, and started to unscrew the lid.
"It matters to me," Charles snapped. "And you need to use something silicon-based unless you want to do me permanent damage."
Haytham glared at him. He picked up the other tube of lubricant instead, and started opening that instead.
"Charles, you can interrogate me all you like once we're finished. In the meantime, please shut up before I decide to shove those bananas so far up your arse you'll choke on them."
Charles raised an eyebrow. He was clearly weighing up his options again. To be fucked immediately and possibly not get answers, or to get answers immediately and possibly not be fucked?
Kicking the Habit (2/?)
By the time he walked out of the convenience store, clutching his purchases (which now included some chocolate, chewing gum, apple juice, a ladies' gossip magazine, a bag of potatoes, two cans of Pepsi and some watch batteries; all of which had been on sale so clearly had been money well-spent), Haytham was having second thoughts. And third thoughts. And fourth, fifth and sixth thoughts.
Jesus, this was a shitty idea. Charles' creepy tendencies were nothing more than the unfortunate side-effect of being completely fucking mental. Sex wouldn't fix it, what on earth had made him think that? It must have been the caffeine deprivation. Or the nine hours he'd spent in that bloody office, trying to figure out both the identity of The Sellout and a way to get back at Washington. Or the suspicious mushroom noodles William had offered him for lunch.
…Bugger. He should have known those weren't really shiitake mushrooms. Damn William and his illegal lunches!
Haytham sighed. He'd spent almost thirty dollars on lubricant (There were two kinds? Why? He'd bought some of each type to be safe.) and condoms and a half-price cock ring he'd thought for three whole minutes might come in handy. The cashier's face had been a picture. He hadn't been able to look Haytham in the eyes, and had looked terrified when Haytham addressed him by name, Leonardo, apparently forgetting he wore a name badge.
He trudged wearily onwards. Thirty dollars wasted. He'd only end up shoving the damn things into his bedside table until either Connor or Charles started poking around and got the wrong idea, or until he got too depressed about his non-existent sex life and threw them away.
Charles in the kitchen when Haytham entered the apartment.
"Connor's gone to Desmond's house," Charles called, his voice still a little rough. Haytham rounded the corner and sure enough, the man was sitting at the table, nursing some tea. He was wrapped in a fluffy dressing-gown, hair still damp from bathing. He was, at least, freshly shaven and wearing a different pair of pyjamas than he had been that morning.
"Oh?"
"Something about pasta. Or pizza. Italian things, at any rate." Haytham prayed to gods he did not believe in that Charles would stop there. No such luck.
"Delicious Italian things," Charles added, in a manner that could have made "the vicar's coming to tea, grandmother" sound incredibly perverted.
Damn him! Damn him to hell! How the hell had he even made that innuendo? Why the hell had he made that innuendo?!
"Did you get the bananas, like I asked?" Charles said, innocently.
Oh. Oh, that was it.
Fuck everything. His earlier plan was back in action.
Haytham strode to the table, and slammed the bag on the table as best he could. It was, after all, a plastic bag, and thus rather difficult to slam. He took out the bananas, and put them in front of Charles.
"Thank you," Charles said, reaching out to take one. Haytham slapped his hand away. Bastard.
"Not yet," he snapped. He tossed the condoms next to the fruit, and then the lubricants and the cock ring as well and oh shit Charles had that look oh his face, the look that meant he knew what was going to happen and he liked it.
"Oh," Charles began, a wicked grin blossoming across his face. "Well, Hay--"
"This is what's going to happen," Haytham interrupted. "I'm going to fuck you until you literally can't stand, and you are never, ever going to eat a banana in front of me again."
Charles frowned at the last part.
"I don't understand. Why can't I eat bananas in front of you?"
"Just take your trousers off," Haytham said.
"Do you even know what you're doing?" Charles looked slightly worried. Good. He should be.
"I googled it," Haytham replied, crossing his arms.
"I'm not sure this is going to go well," Charles said. "Why don't I do the fucking, and you--"
"I'm not going to offer this twice, Charles."
Charles looked like a deer caught in headlights. On one hand, having sex with Haytham. On the other, quite probably getting fairly severely injured whilst having sex with Haytham.
Charles couldn't discard his dressing-gown fast enough, and Haytham gave him a biting kiss in return. One turned into another and even though Charles mostly tasted of medicine and his facial hair was scratchy against his skin, it felt far too good to do something. He pressed Charles against the table, and Charles obediently clambered up, pushing his pants down. Haytham shucked his coat off, and helped Charles free his legs from the bunched-up fabric. And paused.
Oh god, Charles was half-hard already. What the fuck had he been thinking? This was a terrible idea, an absolutely awful idea, a-- oh shit, he was staring wasn't he? Well, it'd been a long time! It wasn't as though he had much experience with erections that didn't belong to him. Actually, he didn't have any experience with erections that didn't belong to him. It was perfectly understandable if he was a little nerv-- no, no, he was still staring. Fuck.
Charles cleared his throat loudly. Haytham glanced up, to meet his eyes. There was just a tinge of red colouring Charles' cheeks, and he looked… not displeased, but certainly somewhat disappointed.
"Second thoughts?" Charles asked, quietly. Haytham let out a tiny laugh, a horribly manic, tiny laugh. He had no idea what he was doing, and Charles would never let him live it down if he admitted it. Keep calm and carry on.
"Fuck, no!" he managed, sounding utterly unconvincing.
…All right, then, carry on at least.
He tugged the fabric over Charles' ankles and leant in for another kiss, only for Charles to turn his head away and press a hand against his chest.
"What brought this on?" Charles asked, looking serious. "You've never shown any interest in this sort of thing before."
"Does it matter?" Haytham replied.
"Yes," Charles answered, simply.
"Well, I don't think it does," Haytham said. He picked up the water-based lube, and started to unscrew the lid.
"It matters to me," Charles snapped. "And you need to use something silicon-based unless you want to do me permanent damage."
Haytham glared at him. He picked up the other tube of lubricant instead, and started opening that instead.
"Charles, you can interrogate me all you like once we're finished. In the meantime, please shut up before I decide to shove those bananas so far up your arse you'll choke on them."
Charles raised an eyebrow. He was clearly weighing up his options again. To be fucked immediately and possibly not get answers, or to get answers immediately and possibly not be fucked?
He chose the former.