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Tommy’s favorite client was... odd.
He couldn’t even really pinpoint why he was his favorite. He’d tattooed Wilbur over half a dozen times, different variations of music notes. He never asked for a different design or placement other than his neck. He never even managed to book his appointments more than twelve hours in advance, always forcing Tommy to stay after hours to squeeze him in. If anything, the repetitive design and almost rude behavior should make him dread Wilbur’s appointments.
He never refused him though.
Wilbur intrigued him; a seemingly straight laced man getting the same distorted tattoo. He was always keyed up when he dropped in; twitchy and high strung. Getting tattooed seemed to both bring him back down to earth - the pain pulling him back into his body - and send him higher if his... unique reaction to getting tattooed was anything to go by.
He’d be rock hard the entire time.
Wilbur mentioned before his first appointment that it was likely to happen and apologized for it. He was never creepy about it; didn’t moan or try to touch himself or Tommy. He didn’t lurk around the parlor after his appointment or harass him or the other artists for ‘help’ with his problem. It seemed completely involuntary so Tommy didn’t worry about it; adrenaline did different things to different people and watching a hot guy get hard under his gun was hardly the worst thing he’d ever dealt with.
It wasn’t like the same thing had never happened to him. There was a reason, more often than not, he ended up piercing himself.
But that wasn’t what made Wilbur his favorite. The man was calm and almost apathetic if it weren’t for the crackling energy under his skin. He had the weirdest sense of humor known to man; and each time Tommy’d managed to get him to crack a joke, he’d had to lift his gun so his laughter wouldn’t shake his lines.
That didn’t mean he didn’t also make him nervous sometimes. Tommy had been a tattoo artist for a good five years and it wasn’t always scared teenagers or mothers in his chair. He’d tattooed his fair share of hard, even dangerous men and Wilbur clearly fell into that category. Tommy had gotten an eyeful of his upper body in the few years he’d been inking him. Scratches, cuts, burns; his skin was more scar tissue than healthy flesh.
The first time he’d tattooed the back of his neck, Wilbur had been wound tighter than a bowstring. He was lucky he’d been working high enough that the tension in his shoulders hadn’t morphed the tattoo. A quick glance down showed Wilbur’s dick was just as interested as usual but it was like he expected Tommy to attack him.
Or he was just used to being attacked.
There’d been no joking around in that session and Tommy finished it at the speed of light to get rid of the feeling of being around a dangerous predator.
That was when Tommy noticed the pattern.
Living in such a large city, bad things were expected to happen. He had high end security in his parlor for a reason and it wasn’t because he was worried about the alley cats munching in his bins. The city was in a panic about a string of gruesome murders, people being tortured and strung up in a public place; a list of their crimes stabbed into their chest. In his mind, each one deserved it; they were horrible people and if this killer had to attack anyone he’d rather it be the abusers of the world.
That wasn’t what kept his attention though. He’d had to double check his books to be sure but there was no doubt.
Every time he tattooed Wilbur, a murder was reported the next day.
Once or twice, he’d brush off as a coincidence. What were the odds of a serial killer waltzing into his parlor for a celebratory death tattoo? But all eight of his appointments were followed up with a news report the next day. It explained everything; why Wilbur was so keyed up when he came in, his hatred for having someone at his back, even his reaction to getting tattooed. It wasn’t a huge leap to assume a serial killer got off on pain.
Tommy didn’t want to go to the police; each victim was someone they couldn’t touch, that got away with their crimes scot free because they were in a position of power. If Wilbur was bringing these people to permanent justice, he didn’t want to stop him. Besides, the less interaction he had with police, the better.
It didn’t help that he’d grown so fond of the man. You see someone enough times and even the most reticent of people will open up. It was slow going but Tommy would say he and Wilbur were friends. Hanging out at the parlor and talking while Tommy closed up turned into watching horror movies in his apartment upstairs. Wilbur brought him food after he’d mentioned he often got lost in drawing his pieces and would forget to eat. He even introduced Tommy to his cat Milo; the most adorable, blind fluff ball he’d ever seen.
Wilbur was a good man.
He just also possibly happened to be a serial killer.
Tommy sighed as the thought of it made his pants tighten.
He knew he was a special brand of fucked up. Calling him a masochist was generous and the thought of gorgeous, might-have-blood-on-his-hands Wilbur fucking his brains out sent his blood south so fast it made his head spin.
“You’re very quiet tonight.”
Speaking of which.
Tommy looked up from where he was dismantling his gun, casually swaying in place to the ever present music pumping through the parlor. Wilbur was reclined on the chair, sucking at a juice box; relaxed in a way that didn’t really align with having just been stabbed by a bunch of needles for an hour. The saniderm patch around his neck protected the freshly inked music note that Tommy had been contemplating more and more lately.
Tommy smiled at him. “Just thinking!” he assured.
He tilted his head. “And what about?”
He chewed on his lip and turned back to his machine. How the fuck did he lead into ‘I’ve kind of half fallen in love with you and the whole murder thing is really the opposite of a problem’? “You know that killer running around? The one going after child abusers?”
Wilbur gave a small hum. “Hard not to. Seems like everyone’s talking about them.”
“The internet’s calling them the Guardian Angel Killer,” he said, doing slight jazz hands.
He rolled his eyes. “Even that’s a bit too pretentious for my tastes,” he scoffed. Tommy chuckled; he knew he’d find it stupid. “I didn’t know you were a crime buff.”
“I’m not, usually,” he said. “There’s just something about this one...”
“You worried?” Wilbur asked, playing with his straw.
“Not really,” he replied and watched his eyebrow rise in surprise. “He only goes after powerful scumbags, right? I’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Wilbur took a measured sip of his juice. “Then why think about him?”
He didn’t seem to notice the pronoun slip up. Okay, we’re getting somewhere. “I dunno,” Tommy shrugged. “He’s clearly not the worst guy in the world, considering who he goes after.”
“I heard he’s pretty brutal,” he pointed out, not disagreeing.
“Some of those people deserved brutal,” he said and decided to push a little more. “Did you hear about his last victim? That pharmaceutical director using experimental drugs on his daughter?”
“Son,” Wilbur corrected mindlessly before stiffening.
Tommy grinned.
Gotcha.
The news never released the information on Schlatt’s child and neither did the Guardian Angel Killer. All the public knew was that Schlatt abused and neglected his child after putting his own sister into an induced coma. Tommy imagined only the police knew the identity of the child.
The police... and Schlatt’s killer.
Tommy put the pieces of his gun back in its case and fought to keep the smile out of his voice. “Right, son,” he nodded. “Well, knowing that, how can anyone say he didn’t deserve it? The cops can’t or refuse to go after the people he kills; I’d say he’s doing a good job.”
Wilbur put his juice down and stood up. “That’s a dangerous opinion,” he said lightly.
He kept his back turned to him. “Only if you don’t share it,” he replied. “You’re a music teacher, right? It must be nice knowing someone has those kids’ best interests at heart.”
“How do you know he does it for the kids?” he asked. “He could just be a psychopath wanting to hurt people.”
“A psychopath wouldn’t go to so much effort; wouldn’t be so elaborate,” he said, clicking his case shut. “These are personal. It’d be easier to kill some random schmuck if that’s all he wanted.”
“It would be,” Wilbur agreed.
Tommy hummed and set his case in its designated drawer. He straightened up and a hand tangled in his hair, sharply pulling his head back. He gasped and reached up to grab his wrist but made no move to pull free. He felt the sharp point of a blade under his chin, forcing him to tilt his head back further.
“So tell me why I shouldn’t?” Wilbur whispered in his ear.
“Because I let you kill tonight,” he rushed out and felt Wilbur pause. “That’s why you get the tattoos, right? They’re your trophies.”
The repeated design, the short notice appointments; there was nothing else they could be. It even explained why he could never reach Wilbur the day of his appointment; he was too busy preparing to kill his target.
“Aren’t you a clever one,” Wilbur purred and Tommy shivered in his hold. “When did you figure it out?”
“Three music notes ago,” he answered. Over seven months and three deaths ago. Schlatt, Philza, a doctor that had been deliberately letting children die so he could run his own unethical tests on their corpses and whoever Wilbur had killed just a few hours before. Tommy was complicit in them; there were three deaths on his head because he kept silent.
He didn’t regret it for a second.
Wilbur hummed. “Why wait this long?”
“I wanted to be sure.” Not entirely a lie. His friend being a feared killer was a leap and half; there was every possibility that he’d been wrong.
“And what do you plan to do now that you are?” he asked, tapping the blade against his chin.
Tommy took a deep breath. “Nothing.”
Wilbur’s grip tightened on his hair and he bit his cheek so he wouldn’t moan. The knife fell away as Wilbur gripped his shoulder and spun him in place, shoving him back against the table with a glare. The knife quickly found its way back to his throat. “Why tell me then?” he growled.
Tommy swallowed, his bobbing throat lightly catching on the blade. “Because I’m on your side,” he said weakly.
“Why?” Wilbur demanded.
“We’re friends,” he said. “And like I said, I think you’re doing a good thing.”
“So this is purely altruistic?” he drawled. “You just wanted to set my mind at ease?”
Tommy shifted in place. “Not exactly...” he admitted. “There was something else to it.”
He scowled. “Blackmail?”
Here we go. He pushed his hips forward to grind his bulge against Wilbur’s hip. “More like an offer.”
Wilbur eyes blew wide. “What?”
Tommy licked his lips. “I want you, Wilbur,” he confessed.
The anger faded from his eyes as they flickered down to his half hard dick. “That’s what this is about?” he asked incredulously.
Incredulous was fine; it wasn’t disgust or anger, he could work with that. He nodded and put his hand on Wilbur’s chest; lightly drifting his fingers over his body, down to play over his belt. “I could make you feel so good, Wil,” he promised.
Wilbur’s knife fell away from his throat, the flat of it coming to rest on his collarbone. “There are safer ways to proposition someone, you know,” his voice losing the dangerous edge.
“How many of them end up with me like this?” he asked, deliberately dropping his gaze down to the knife.
Wilbur raised an eyebrow and tapped it against him. “You like this?”
“Wil, I love this,” he grinned.
His grip on his hair tightened and Tommy finally let himself give a breathy moan at the sting. “Are you sure?”
“Completely,” he promised. “I want you so bad, Wilbur.”
Wilbur studied him, searching his eyes for something, for some kind of doubt maybe, but Tommy had never wanted something more in his life. “Tell me to stop and I will, okay?” he said seriously and he nodded. “Anything I should avoid?”
He took a second to run a quick mental inventory. “The alliums,” he answered. They were dotted all over his body and held more significance than any other piece on his body. “And my hands.”
He nodded. “Anything else?”
Tommy smirked. “Hurt me, baby,” he requested.
Wilbur grinned and his body language changed before his very eyes. His perpetually tense shoulders relaxed and a heady look entered his eyes as he adopted an arrogant tilt of his head. Tommy was almost the same height and yet he’d never felt so small beneath his gaze.
He swallowed against his suddenly dry mouth. Shit, he hadn’t even done anything to him yet and he already had him sweating.
“Strip,” Wilbur ordered and stepped back. “Completely; I want to get a good look at you.”
Tommy immediately toed off his shoes and pulled his t-shirt over his head, showing off his ink covered torso before moving to his belt. Wilbur’s dark eyes devoured every inch of revealed skin and he fought not to preen under his gaze.
He stepped out of his pants and underwear and kicked them to the side, standing tall and unashamed. He couldn’t be prouder of his body; he’d made himself a walking piece of art. He’d designed every piece, from the anatomical bones on the tops of his hands and feet to the plant vines winding up his thigh to his hip. Every line and shade carefully considered and only his most trusted friends were allowed to ink the final product.
“Beautiful,” Wilbur murmured as he circled him, his hands coming up to drift across his skin. “Every inch of you is a masterpiece.”
Tommy shivered. What had those hands done? The fingers that trailed down his chest were the same ones that dismembered Schlatt. The hand curling around his hip had broken and re-broken Dream’s bones. Wilbur had shed enough blood to drown in and Tommy never wanted him to stop touching him.
Wilbur stopped in front of him and lightly ran the knife down his sternum, the steel cold against his skin. “I’m not going to cut you,” he announced. “Not until we’ve talked some more.”
Tommy bit back a disappointed whine and nodded his understanding.
He dragged the knife lower, the sound of the metal scraping against his skin making him shiver. Wilbur sent him a quick smirk before ever so delicately running it down the length of his cock.
“Oh, shit,” Tommy whimpered.
Wilbur snickered and rounded the head of his cock, letting the knife ping against the piercing there before running it along the underside. He couldn’t help his twitching, fists tensing and releasing as he began to pant; picturing the blade nicking the sensitive skin and sending little rivulets of blood dripping off his cock.
Wilbur shifted the knife to under his balls, letting his heavy sac rest on the flat of it. He lightly pushed up and Tommy froze as he felt himself bulge over the edges; sure it would be enough to be cut by the sharp blade. Wilbur laughed again and let them fall back down; giving his balls a farewell tap that had Tommy squeaking in anticipatory fear.
“Oh, I could have so much fun with you,” Wilbur grinned.
Tommy’s heart raced. Fuck, he’s going to ruin me.
Wilbur placed his knife down on the table and picked up his ever present, pretentious ass scarf. He raised an eyebrow and held up the material and Tommy obediently presented his wrists. Wilbur went higher, looping the scarf around his forearms; tight enough to restrain but loose enough to not dig too hard into his arms.
“I’d love to tie you up properly,” he said as he secured the knot. “Watch the rope dig into your skin, suspend you from my ceiling and just leave you there; hanging and helpless.”
Tommy shuddered.
“I’d tease you for hours; put a ring on your cock and beat your ass until you cry and beg me to fuck you,” he mused. “Would you like that, Tommy?”
Hearing his voice purr out his name made his legs weak. “Fuck yes,” he whimpered. He wanted that so bad; to be completely at Wilbur’s mercy.
Wilbur gave him a sadistic grin. “On your knees,” he ordered and Tommy sunk to the floor a little too quickly; the landing sending a shock of pain through his knees that only caused the knot in his gut to wind tighter.
Wilbur took off his shirt; the sight of his music note ridden neck sending a thrill through him now that he had confirmation of what they truly meant. “Take me out.”
Tommy quickly undid his belt and his fingers twitched over his zipper but glancing up at Wilbur’s expectant look gave him an idea. He leaned forward, nuzzling into his bulge before gripping his zipper with his teeth, looking back up at him as he slowly dragging it down.
“Fuck,” Wilbur groaned. “Aren’t you a little performer?”
Tommy grinned and pushed his boxers down enough to free his hardening cock. “I wanna be good for you,” he said and mouthed at his shaft. God, he was so thick; he couldn’t wait to get his mouth around him.
“I bet you do.” Wilbur picked the knife back up and used his hair to pull him away. “You wanna put on a show for me? Open wide.”
Tommy did as he was told and his eyes widened when, instead of shoving his cock in his mouth, Wilbur pressed the flat of his blade against his tongue. His tongue trembled with how tense he held it; both afraid of and longing to curl it around the knife and feel it cut into him. Drool welled up in his mouth, pooling around the steel before dripping down his chin.
“Suck on it,” Wilbur told him. “Gently.”
He shivered and closed his lips around the blade, carefully suckling on it like the world’s most dangerous popsicle.
Wilbur slowly pulled the knife out of his mouth, the wet metal easily gliding through his lips. “Stick that tongue out for me,” he ordered, voice husky.
He immediately did so and Wilbur shifted forward, resting his fat cock on his tongue. Tommy whimpered, wanting to sink down and choke on him. Wilbur gripped his jaw, fingers digging into his cheeks as he held him open and thrust over the length of his tongue.
Wilbur’s hand shifted to the back of his head and let him close his lips around his cock. He pushed in as deep as he could go, testing his gag reflex and grinning when he easily deep throated him.
“Taking me so well,” he praised and urged him to bob his head. “I always knew you’d be good at this. A mouth like yours, I knew you’d be the perfect little cock slut.”
Tommy hollowed his cheeks and tried to swirl his tongue as he could as he was pulled up and down his cock. He chanced lightly dragging his teeth along his shaft and felt a rush of pride as Wilbur’s moans grew louder; his grip on his hair tightening.
Fuck, Wilbur wasn’t even moving his hips anymore; just pulling his head on and off his cock. Tommy’s face was a mess, drool dripping down his chin and tears welling in his eyes from the force of his movements. He looked up at Wilbur and saw how his mouth hung slightly open as he panted, staring hungrily at his cock sliding through his lips.
“You’re getting off on this,” Wilbur grunted. “Being used by a killer. You like knowing how much power I hold over you? What I could take away if you don’t please me?”
Tommy whined and tried to nod as much as he could. Wilbur’s hand closed over the back of his neck, pulling him forward and forcing him down to the hilt; his throat spasming around him.
“You look so pretty with your mouth full,” he moaned.
His eyes fluttered shut as he started to get lightheaded. He was about to reach up and tap his thigh when Wilbur wrenched his head back. He held him in place as he gasped, grinding his wet cock over his face and smearing his own saliva on him.
“Stroke yourself for me,” Wilbur ordered. “Nice and slow.”
With his full attention on him, Tommy barely got a hand on his cock before it started twitching and leaking. He rolled his hips, showing himself off; what he’d look like if Wilbur let him ride him.
He imagined himself sinking down on his cock; how it would feel inside him, would split him open and fill him to the brim. He whimpered as he thrust up into his hand; the slick sound of him fisting his cock filled the room and left him blushing.
What if he hadn’t shut up the front of the parlor? The entire street would be able to see him on his knees, desperately working his cock while Wilbur watched. The thought made him twitch and precum bead on his head.
“Adorable,” Wilbur chuckled condescendingly. “So hard just from getting your throat fucked. Are you even going to be able to handle me fucking you properly?”
Tommy nodded frantically. “I can, I promise,” he said breathlessly.
“We’ll see.” His gaze dropped to the small puddle of precum under his cock and he tutted. “Look at you, making a mess all over the floor. Clean it up.”
His eyes widened and his grip on his cock stuttered. “Wilbur, don’t make me...” Make me, please god, make me.
His voice hardened and he shoved his head down. “Now.”
Tommy whined but scooted back until he could lean over the puddle. He looked up and kept his eyes locked on Wilbur as he ran his tongue along the floor, licking up the salty drops.
“Good boy,” Wilbur cooed and he shivered. “Get up and bend down over the table.”
He stumbled to his feet and turned. He started to bend over but hesitated. If that was what Wilbur was like when he didn’t follow his orders, then he wanted more. He rested his hands on the edge of the table, only leaning over it slightly.
Wilbur huffed disapprovingly. “I said, down,” and used a hand to harshly grip the back of his neck to slam him onto it.
He cried out as his face hit the surface and felt Wilbur pause behind him. He moaned, making sure the other knew he’d liked it and spread his legs wide.
Wilbur rubbed his thumb over his neck, the softness lowering his guard and he yelped as his other hand gave his ass a sharp slap. “Next time, do as you’re told.”
He slapped him again where his thigh met his ass in a crack that reverberated throughout the parlor, leaving white hot pain behind.
“Again,” Tommy gasped, pushing his ass out. “More, Wil, please.” He wanted more, wanted him to leave welts and hand shaped bruises on his skin.
“Such good manners,” Wilbur commented. “Trying to make up for your behavior?”
“Uh-huh,” he nodded desperately and choked on a gasp as Wilbur brought his hand down again and again. His hand was so big; calloused and rough and each strike made his ass burn.
Wilbur gripped his cheek, pulling him open and exposing his hole. His next slap landed right over top of it and Tommy would deny the strangled squeak he made ‘til the day he died.
Wilbur rubbed his fingers over him to soothe the sting. “You’re being amazing, Tommy,” he praised. He pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Doing so well for me.”
Tommy hummed happily, thankful for the chance to get his breath back and shimmied his hips a little.
Wilbur’s hand shifted to cup his hips and hoisted him even further over the table so his feet were off the floor, moving him so easily it made his head spin. “How flexible are you?” he asked.
“Uh...” he tried to reform his brain from the mush Wilbur had made of it, “pretty flexible.”
He hummed and ran his hands down his thighs to his knees. “Good.” He dragged his legs apart and hooked them over the edges of the table, leaving his hole totally exposed.
“Oh god,” Tommy shivered and blushed bright red; he couldn’t be more open if he tried.
“Mmm, that’s nice,” he purred and Tommy nearly choked on his tongue as he felt something softer and considerably wetter than a finger circle his hole.
“Fucking fuck,” he mewled.
Wilbur licked a stripe from his perineum to the top of his ass and he shuddered beneath his tongue. He ran his hands back up over the swell of his spread ass, flicking his thumb over his spit wet hole. “Okay?”
“Yes, oh my god,” he whined.
Wilbur snickered and his hole twitched at the puff of air. “Good. Keep them there,” he ordered and brought his hand down to swat his balls.
“Hah! Fuck, Wilbur!” he cried out, gripping the edge of the table.
Wilbur kneaded his ass, thumbs pulling his hole open. Tommy whimpered as he lapped at him with light kitten licks, leaving wet open mouthed kisses at his rim before plunging his tongue deep into his hole.
His thighs were shaking so much as Wilbur tongue fucked his hole, moaning like he’d never tasted anything better. He curled his tongue inside him and Tommy felt his spit drip down his balls.
“God, your fucking tongue, fuck,” he mewled, trying his hardest to grind back against his face. “Fuck me, fuck me, please.”
Wilbur pressed another kiss to his hole before moving to lightly kiss one of his cheeks where Tommy knew for a fact was a little freckle. The surprisingly sweet action made his heart clench.
Wilbur bit his way up his spine; blunt nails digging into his skin and raking down his sides, leaving red welts in their wake. He spasmed, instincts telling him to twist away but the painful pleasure making him press into the sting. Wilbur’s fingers left him for a moment only to return a few inches up and he gave a shaky smile as he realised he’d jumped over once of his alliums.
Wilbur stood fully behind him. “Look at you, Tommy. All spread out with your pink ass on display. Just beautiful,” he praised.
He shivered. “All for you,” he promised.
He kissed one of the faded scars on his shoulder blade. “Do you keep any lube here?”
“Bottom drawer,” he answered and trembled as Wilbur pulled it open; the light, rumbling vibrations going straight to his cock.
Wilbur took out the tub of vaseline he used to glue down his ink caps and generously coated his fingers, immediately sinking two deep into him. Tommy moaned at the harsh stretch; the lewd squelch of his fingers making his face burn. He was quick and thorough, twisting and scissoring his thick fingers inside him as he opened him up.
He ran his fingers over his prostate once, twice, before pulling them out. Tommy whined at the loss, already feeling too empty.
“So eager,” Wilbur chuckled and he squirmed as he slapped his cock against his hole. “You want my cock, Toms?”
“Give it to me, please, fucking ruin me, Wilbur,” he rambled. “It’ll feel so good inside me, I promise, I’ll be so good for you, please.”
“Mmm, such a sweet thing,” he cooed, lightly biting his ear. “Are you like this with everyone?”
“No, just you, only you,” he panted. “I’m yours, your slut, Wilby, please.”
Wilbur wrapped a possessive hand around his throat. “Damn right you’re mine,” he growled and shoved in the full length of his cock in one cruel thrust.
“Fu-uck!” Tommy gasped as his hips came flush against his own and he couldn’t help his whimpers as he clenched down around him.
“Feel that, Toms?” he rumbled and ground his hips against him, trying to get impossibly deeper. “The way your hole is just sucking me in? Your body already knows it belongs to me.”
Tommy could cum just from that, felt his cock dripping just from being so full but he promised. He promised he’d be good, that he’d last, that he could handle it so he would. He’d hold on, no matter how good he felt filling his insides, fuck-
He rolled his pinned hips back as much as he could, whining as Wilbur shifted inside him. “Please...”
Wilbur slowly pulled out, making him feel every inch, before slamming back inside him; fucking the breath out of his very lungs. He didn’t give him any more time to adjust; rocking his body so hard, he was surprised the table didn’t collapsed beneath them.
Wilbur’s hand around his throat didn’t tighten, didn’t squeeze or choke him, it just rested there like a collar reminding him who he belonged to. Tommy was already riding that edge of too much and not enough; choking out broken whimpers and moans as he tried to meet his thrusts.
“God, you’re perfect, so fucking good, Tommy,” Wilbur praised. “My good slut.”
His hand dropped away from his throat to hook across his chest and hold him up. Tommy whined at the drag of his nails across his nipples, trying to arch up into his hand and push back on his cock at the same time.
Wilbur mouthed behind his ear, kissing down the column of his neck before sinking his teeth in, making him cry out as he felt blood well up on his skin. He sucked harshly over the bite, lapping up the drops of blood spilling down his neck.
“You taste so fucking good, Toms,” he groaned.
Tommy felt so helpless; pinned in place for Wilbur to take his pleasure, his cock pounding into his prostate and it felt so good. His hips ached with how spread out he was and the force of Wilbur’s thrusts; he was so hard it hurt but he couldn’t risk moving his hands without getting fucked off the table.
“Wilbur- Wil, touch me,” Tommy begged. “Don’t stop, don’t- fuck please.”
His hand moved down to his cock, thumbing his piercing before pressing his nail hard into the slit.
“Fuck! Oh fuck, I’m g-gonna cum,” he choked out.
Wilbur’s hand shifted to cruelly pinch the base of his cock, making him cry out. “No you’re fucking not,” he snarled. “Not until you beg for it.”
Tommy near sobbed as his orgasm was cut off. “Please, please let me cum! I want it, I wanna cum, Wilby!”
He buried his hand in his hair, using it like a leash to pull his body up into an arch. “Louder,” he demanded.
“Ahh! G-god- please, I need to cum! Please lemme cum, please-“ his voice broke off into incoherent pleas.
“Good boy, cum for me,” Wilbur ordered, roughly jerking him off. “Make a mess of yourself, Toms.”
“Th-thank you! Thank you, Wil- Wilby, fuck!” Tommy’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he spilled over Wilbur’s hand; coating the table beneath him in white.
Wilbur didn’t stop fucking him as he shoved his cum drenched fingers into his mouth. Tommy gagged as he swallowed around them; moaning at his own salty taste. He was shivering from head to toe, his body so sensitive he felt like he was going to split apart.
“Too- too much!” he hiccuped as he clenched down around him. “It’s too much, Wil! I can’t-!”
Wilbur ignored him, grabbing his hips and pulling him back into his thrusts. “You can fucking take it,” he grunted. “You will take it.”
Tommy sobbed at the pleasurable pain, his knuckles white from gripping the table. His cock was still pathetically dribbling cum as he rammed into his prostate. Aftershocks of pleasure wracked his body and it was all he could do to remember to breathe while he moaned and gasped like a whore.
He cried out as his hands slipped off the edge of the table and he fell forward into his puddle of cum, smearing it across his skin as Wilbur slid him back and forth on his cock. He felt filthy and used and he was going to fucking cum again if Wilbur kept going.
“You want me to cum, Tommy?” Wilbur growled. “Want me to fill this slutty hole of yours until you’re dripping?”
“Yes!” he cried. “Please fill me, please pleasepleaseplease-“
“Fuck, you feel so good, Toms,” he panted, bowing over his back. “Squeezing so tight around me, shit-“
Wilbur buried his teeth in his shoulder and Tommy screamed as a second orgasm ripped through him. He felt Wilbur grind into him as he spilled inside him and fuck, he’d never felt so full; Wilbur’s fat cock stuffing his hole while his cum filled him fit to burst.
Wilbur’s hand smoothed over his hip. “You did so well, Tommy,” he said breathlessly. “So perfect.”
He couldn’t bring himself to reply, was barely clinging onto consciousness as he shivered beneath him. He felt like he was floating; his whole body thrumming with pleasure.
Wilbur gently pulled his cock out; the wet drag of it in his over sensitive hole making him whimper. He held his cheeks apart and Tommy barely had the wherewithal to blush as his hole throbbed and his cum dripped out of him.
“Fuck if that isn’t a sight,” Wilbur sighed approvingly, wiping up the drip with his thumb before pressing it back into his hole. He whined at the heat that shot through him; he was far too wrung out to go again but Wilbur thankfully left his aching hole alone.
Wilbur unhooked his legs from over the table and helped set him back on his feet. He slowly stood up, his legs still shaking and immediately buckled as he tried to make them take his weight. Wilbur caught him, wrapping an arm around his waist to hold him up.
“Easy, Tommy, I got you,” he murmured.
He shifted his hold on him and effortlessly scooped him up. Tommy hummed and nuzzled into his chest; the arms around him making him feel warm and safe.
He must’ve zoned out for a while because the next time his eyes blinked open, he was on the leather couch on the other side of the parlor. His and Wilbur’s cum had been cleaned off his skin and his arms were free of Wilbur’s scarf.
Wilbur was crouched next to him; he’d pulled his underwear and pants back up and was gently running a hand through his hair, untangling messy strands.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
Tommy pressed his thighs together, still feeling electric zings of pleasure arching through him. “I think you killed me,” he croaked.
Wilbur snickered. “You’d know if I had.”
Right. Serial killer.
Wilbur rubbed his thumb along his temple. “You have a bath in your apartment right?”
He hummed an affirmative. It was one of the few things he’d splurged on outside of his parlor.
“Take a breather and I’ll take you upstairs,” he told him and carefully tucked the blanket he kept for shocky clients around him.
“I can’t... I have to- to finish cleaning,” Tommy insisted, despite the fact that he couldn’t really feel his legs.
“I’ll finish it,” he said.
“It has to be up to standard,” he mumbled. He sighed as Wilbur started kneading his thighs, the pressure helping relieve the ache of the near split he’d been forced into. His eyes grew lidded as sleep began to tug at him.
“Sanitation...”
“I clean murder scenes, Tommy, I think I got it,” Wilbur deadpanned.
Tommy couldn’t help his giggle. “Yeah, I guess you would.”
“So, it really doesn’t bother you?” he asked, a twinge of uncertainty lacing his voice. “My... hobby?”
“It doesn’t,” he confirmed with a gentle smile. “God knows if you were around when I was a kid, I’d be calling you a guardian angel too.” He certainly could’ve used one.
Wilbur’s face blanked and he looked away. “Is that the only reason you did this? Because I’m fulfilling a childhood fantasy?”
That woke Tommy right up. He lifted his head and reached down to thread his fingers through Wilbur’s. “No,” he said firmly. “Like I said, I want you, Wilbur. I have for a while. I’m just a bit of a coward and didn’t know how to ask.”
Wilbur squeezed his hand and looked up with a small smile. “Confronting a potential murderer was easier than asking me out?”
“Honestly?” He shrugged. “Yeah.”
He shook his head. “You’re ridiculous,” he snorted.
“Worked didn’t it?” he gloated and Wilbur laughed.
“Guess so.”
They were quiet for a moment, Wilbur rubbing deep into his thigh and up his back with one hand while Tommy held onto the other. He was so warm; a fluttering in his gut that could never come from sex.
He wanted to know why Wilbur became who he was, what his drive was for becoming the Guardian Angel Killer. He wanted to wake up and have coffee with him, draw while he played his guitar with Milo causing a ruckus in all the paper. Wanted to make dinner together and pretend it didn’t taste terrible since neither of them could cook and get take out when they finally couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted more of this, wanted Wilbur.
Tommy took a deep breath. “Hey, Wilbur? Wanna go out for a drink with me tomorrow?”
He thought it over, playing with his fingers. “No,” he finally said and Tommy’s heart dropped, ice dripping down his spine.
Oh.
Tommy’s legs shifted unconsciously to cover himself. He tried to pull his hand back but Wilbur held firm. “I’d say we’re past the ‘getting to know you’ stage and I find bars exhausting. But there’s an Alien marathon on if you’re up for it?”
Tommy heaved a relieved sigh. And you think I’m dramatic. “‘Course I am,” he smiled. “You know, you not being scared by horror movies makes a lot more sense now.”
“Nah, you’re just a scaredy-cat,” Wilbur smirked.
“Am not!” he squawked indignantly and lightly slapped his arm.
“So you didn’t get scared shitless when we watched Nightmare on Elm Street?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Hey, that is completely valid!” he defended. “That movie’s scary!”
“It’s almost forty years old,” he scoffed.
“And that motherfucker is terrifying!”
Wilbur laughed at him. “Don’t worry, Toms,” he reached down to cup his cheek, “I’ll protect you.”
Tommy pressed into his hand, that fluttery feeling returning with a vengeance. “You better,” he pouted.
Wilbur’s grin turned fond as he stroked his cheekbone. He hovered above him before leaning down; his chapped lips meeting his in a chaste, almost nervous kiss. Tommy realized that throughout everything, they hadn’t kissed once. He hummed as he returned the kiss, reaching up to gently thread a hand through his hair.
He could taste his own blood on Wilbur’s lips but they were warm and soft against his and Tommy couldn’t imagine anything better.