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It was late afternoon when the train cars were the busiest, packed to bursting with people heading to and from work or appointments. People did their best to avoid looking at each other unless they were traveling with someone, phones were shared by couples or friends in the corner seats, and others dozed with their arms through the loops on their bags or belongings. Monitors sat nestled between ads for berry smoothies and insurance, displaying the current battles happening on the Single, Double, and Multi lines.
Overhead, the lights flickered every now and then. The air was filled with the quiet sound of phones and conversation overtaken by creaking and squeaking from the train rattling down the tracks.
Normally, Emmet was too busy at that time working the Double Battle line. Today though, he was just a regular passenger, albeit a sick one.
A cold had been making its rounds through Gear Station, as was typical of the early autumn months in Nimbasa City. Emmet had avoided getting sick the previous two years and had been confident in his immune system.
Unfortunately, even he had caught it much to his dismay. He had tried to power through it - taking every precaution he could with masks and medicine and tea - but he'd been so tired from the fever that he ended up falling asleep during a double battle. He had nearly cracked his head against the floor, but his opponent’s Pokemon and his own had caught him just in time, leaving him only feeling embarrassed rather than concussed.
After that, Ingo insisted he take the next week off and leave the Double Battle line to him and the rest of the staff so Emmet could get some much needed sleep. He had whined and complained, but eventually relented and called in.
Though he didn't get much sleep. There was nothing he wanted to eat in the apartment, and Ingo was now working double shifts to cover his absence. And he felt too guilty asking him to pick food up for him, even though he knew his brother would do it.
But, Emmet was sick with a cold, not dying.
So, he dragged himself to the store closest to their work, because it was the only place that sold his favorite type of canned soup and they also had the best in-house desserts. And, damn it, he deserved a treat since he was being very brave and independent despite how sick he felt. Though he was starting to regret that choice.
Even the vibrations and rocking of the train, usually so comforting, was starting to make his head hurt and stomach churn. He pulled his cardigan closer, wishing it was his usual white and fluffy one. That was the warmest one he owned, but he hadn’t been able to find it. So he was stuck wearing one of Ingo’s black ones and it was weird. Especially since his cardigan’s sleeves were stretched and worn from his stimming and fidgeting and Ingo's was as pristine as it had been when he bought it.
It was warm enough, but he was still freezing, even though the train car was probably a comfortable temperature given everyone else's lack of apparent complaints.
He grumbled miserably as he sniffled behind his mask, a hand on the handrail closest to the doors, the other occupied by a grocery bag weighed down by a single can of soup and an assortment of desserts and snacks.
The sparse orange lights lining the tunnel walls were embers in the darkness beyond the door windows, the moments of darkness causing the glass to throw back his reflection, which he refused to look at. He had caught a glimpse of himself in it when he first boarded, and he didn’t like it. He looked flushed from fever but also somehow managed to look even paler than usual. He looked like a corpse, he thought.
He felt a bit like one actually. His head foggy from fever, throat sore to the point where he hadn’t said a word to anyone for fear of hacking up a lung into his mask. And worst of all, a feverish stiffness and heaviness sat in his joints, leaving him not so much standing by the handrail as he was slumped against it.
I should have just asked Ingo to bring something to me. Emmet thought bitterly with another sniffle.
A battle was playing on the monitor over the door, a double battle between a random trainer and a depot agent. His eyes lingered on the screen enviously, wishing he was battling Pokemon rather than a cold.
The train pulled into a stop, not his, and he shuffled a couple steps away from the door, attempt to make himself as small as possible so the next batch of passengers could board while others disembarked. He barely looked away from the monitors though except to make sure that he was clear of the doors completely.
More people boarded than left, leaving him practically pinned to the handrail when the doors closed and the train began moving. He was distinctly aware of someone hovering a bit too close to him from behind, but he didn’t think much of it; everyone was practically packed in like canned Wishiwashis. It was impossible to be anything but too close to someone. He could technically move to stand directly in front of the door like most people did, but that would be a safety hazard.
The doors had to stay clear in the case of an emergency after all, and despite his usual flippant and careless attitude, he was almost more of a stickler for the safety procedures than Ingo was.
Even if it would have been more comfortable for him.
There was a pressure suddenly, the feeling of hands grabbing at his hips, someone pressing up flush against his back and dragging him back against them. His eyes snapped down to the glass and his reflection, wide and alert, staring at the man behind him with surprise and fear. He didn’t know this person, not even in passing.
He squinted, pulling away only to be dragged back against him by his hips, sending a small jolt of excitement down his spine.
The man locked eyes with him through the reflection, a playful smile that made Emmet look away nervously as heat crawled up his neck. The stranger’s thumbs rubbed at Emmet’s hips through his pants, fingers lightly hooking into his empty belt-loops.
He tightened his grip on the handrail, fever-addled mind working sluggishly through his options while staring at the man. He should be causing a scene instead of standing there dumbly, feeling nothing but a shameful heat flooding his body. Excitement smothered that spark of fear he’d felt when their eyes met.
Emmet swallowed thickly, drumming his fingers nervously against the handrail as he took in the features of the person on him.
He was handsome, from what he could tell. Blond hair that was glossy and soft looking, falling over half his face while the rest was pinned back and tucked either under his hat or into the collar of his oversized jacket. A baseball cap sat low enough over his face that the shadows cast by the poor lighting of the train and flickering lights of the tunnels meant that he couldn't make many details out but a glint of the dull gold of his visible eye and the flash of confidence in that grin.
The blond lifted a hand to his lips, a gesture to be quiet, their gazes locked in the reflection.
Emmet just swallowed hard and slightly nodded, his heart jumping up into his throat.
What was he thinking?
The man grinned, leaning close and breathing hot and heavy at his ear as he ground against Emmet’s ass and dug his fingers into the spot where Emmet’s thighs met his hips. His lips brushed the shell of his ear, tearing a pathetic little keening noise from Emmet's lips. Teeth caught his earlobe gently, running his tongue over the spot that he'd bitten.
It was a struggle to keep quiet even with just that small amount of stimulation. Emmet was always very vocal, never shying away from being noisy to make sure his partners knew just how much he liked something. But now, he needed to be quiet.
He focused on his breathing, doing his best to keep it slow and steady despite the heat in his body and the shivers of nervousness and excitement that raced through him.
The stranger’s fingers inched closer to the front of his pants. All Emmet could do was stare and watch in the reflection of the door window, face hot and breathing forcibly steady.
He held his breath to keep from uttering a sound when a hand slid lower, squeezing him firmly through his pants and making his hips jerk back slightly. His knees pressed together and he bit back a whimper, replacing it instead with a shuddering breath and quiet cough, placing a hand to the door to steady himself as heat crawled up his body.
Emmet shifted closer to the door, though the man and the people around them just surged in with the newfound space, essentially trapping him in the corner. The stranger stayed right against his back, hands moving down to begin to mess with the zipper of his pants.
No one noticed.
I should not be letting this carry on this far.
The zipper was quietly dragged down, the sound unheard over the sound of the train. Emmet squirmed restlessly as the man slipped his hands under his shirt, rough fingers ghosting across his stomach. Emmet bit down on his lower lip, the chills caused by the touch going straight south and leaving his knees trembling. One hand slid higher, fingertips brushing across a nipple before giving it a sharp tug.
“Ah–” Emmet clamped a hand over his mouth to quiet the ghost of a noise that nearly escaped him, his eyes fluttering closed and brow furrowing. The man behind him chuckled, pressing his mouth against the back of Emmet’s neck, lips cool against his flushed skin. Rough fingers gently flicked and tugged at the sensitive nub, attempting to tear more noises out of the Subway Boss’s lips.
But Emmet remain resolute in his silence, breathing growing unsteady and mouth screwed shut as tight as he could.
I should try and get someone’s attention…
Teeth grazed the back of his neck, sending a jolt down his spine. Emmet’s hips were dragged back, the hand under his shirt slipping down and into his pants. A hand wrapped firmly around his length, palm as rough as his fingers had been, and he was stroked slowly. Another amused noise drifted from the man's lips as he failed once more to get more than labored breaths out of Emmet.
His hips twitched shakily against the hand, the man behind him breathing slow and purposely steady against his hair. He pressed his flushed face against the cool glass of the door, panting so hard that even with his face mask the window was fogging.
The grocery bag banged against the door and his leg as the man behind him pressed against him, pinning him fully.
He knew he should be feeling more ashamed; he was sick! He was a Subway Boss! He had a reputation, a fanbase that bordered on rabid, and while his reputation wasn’t as important to him as it was to Ingo, it would affect his job if he got caught in such a position. It wasn’t like he was against random flings, though he usually at least exchanged a few words with them before letting them have their way with him. Here, there was none of that.
Emmet should be calling for help.
He should be trying to fight him off.
There were so many people around them, and yet none of them seemed to even be slightly aware of what was happening.
People were simply on their phones, talking to friends and coworkers, sleeping with their limbs tangled in the straps of their belongings or groceries, standing around him so close he could easily reach out and grab one. There was a businessman right next to him, not even glancing in his direction, too busy reading an article of some sort. Emmet may as well have not existed at all.
And it was thrilling.
He could feel how hard the man behind him was, rutting against his ass unsteadily due to the rocking and vibrations of the train, and all Emmet could clearly think of was how much he wished there was less clothing between them. He had to adjust his footing, squeezing his eyes shut and focusing intently on how good it would feel to be fucked like that. On the train, surrounded by so many people, by this man he hadn’t even heard the voice of.
His cock twitched and throbbed in the other’s hand.
The blond let out a breathy laugh at his ear, a low sound that he barely even heard over the squealing and squeaking of the train. But he could feel his breath against his overheated skin, making him sag against the door with a slow, shuddering sigh that caught in his throat uncomfortably. The hand in his pants stroked him at the same unstable pace as his grinding, quick up and down slow, then quick.
Emmet had to press his hand to his mouth to quiet the moans that were right at his throat. He had to be quiet, he reminded himself, the words a mantra in his head at that moment. A shiver of excitement rolled down his spine, and he pushed his hips back against the man grinding against him, eyelids lowering slightly and face so, so warm.
He caught sight of a grin on the stranger's face, and nesrly whined.
No one will notice. The grin seemed to say.
A platform was coming up in roughly thirty minutes and he was so hard in the man's hands. He was leaking all over his fingers, and he was breathing so hard that every few intakes of air were accompanied by a quiet cough. Drool was soaking into the bottom edge of his mask, and he scrambled clumsily with his free hand to make sure he wasn't making too much of a mess of himself.
Emmet felt the hand withdraw hastily from his pants, making him let out a sigh at the sudden loss of friction. He wanted to beg him to put it back, but that would involve using his voice, and he didn't fully trust himself to speak. He could only imagine the broken whiny way it would come out.
And aside from that, it was hot.
It was hot being at the mercy of someone without even sharing a word with him. Afterwards, he promised himself as he watched the heat color the man's pale face and the way the fur of his oversized coat brushed against his cheeks. After they were done, he would speak. For now, he would be obedient and be quiet, just like the man had gestured for him to be at the start.
He was pressed harder against the door, the other fumbling with his zipper and panting hard against his hair. He swore he heard him muttering curses to himself before, finally, the blond got himself free.
They locked eyes through the window. Emmet's were half lidded and dark with need and the blond's bright and wild and starving. The way he looked at Emmet made his head spin and his stomach flip and Dragons he wanted him. Despite everything, there was something else in the look, a question. Despite how far they’d gone already, he was still asking for permission to go the rest of the way.
Emmet simply responded to it by grinding back against him clumsily, pulling a low, hungry growl from the blond's lips.
Hands were back on him, tugging his pants down in the back and shoving his shirt and cardigan up and out of the way. The man pressed in closer, groping his ass and spreading him open and making Emmet breathing quicken and pulse race at the sensation of cool air kissing flushed skin and the wonderfully pleasant stretch. He could hear the blond breathing heavily against his ear and the heat radiating off of him as he ground against his ass.
The man was hard, shaft pressing between his cheeks and the tip smearing precum across the lowest part of his back.
Emmet glanced at the people around them for a quick reassurance that they were still unnoticed.
So far, they were. Or at least no one was actively paying attention. No phones were pointed their way either, that was his biggest concern.
That was a relief.
The stranger gripped his cock firmly, his other hand keeping Emmet spread while the Subway Boss peeled his hand away from his mask to grab onto the open flaps of the other’s coat to try and hide their actions behind it. Teeth nipped at the back of his neck again, the other smearing precum across him and panting against his sweat soaked skin.
That was the extent of the preparation he was going to get though.
The next stop was coming up far too soon. There was no time for frills or kindness.
A rough hand, the one that had been gripping his hip, covered Emmet’s mouth tight to stifle the sharp gasp that was knocked from his lips as the blond bucked hard into him. The stranger groaned quietly against his neck, only taking a brief moment to observe how pretty Emmet’s eyes were when they were filled up with tears and so dark and wanting.
The stretch was unpleasant at first, a faint sting that made Emmet squirm and grit his teeth in discomfort. It wasn't the worst pain imaginable, and it wasn't enough to make him have second thoughts. Especially not with the rocking and vibrations of the train causing the stranger's movements to stutter and stagger, rough thrusts unsteady and lacking in coordination.
Emmet held onto the door with one hand, the other still gripping the coat and his bag of groceries, focusing intently on the pleasant fullness and the way the entire train amplified the sensations.
It was agony trying to be quiet, his teeth sinking against his lower lip with a hand crushed against his mouth and mask, making it hard to breathe. And the stranger behind him gripped his hip tight, fucked him quick and deep while breathing hard against the back of his neck. Every rock and rattle of the train was punctuated by a spike of pleasure and aches. Neither cared about the discomfort of it all though, just the excitement of the moment, the bursts of bliss, while people around them ignored their very existence.
Emmet’s eyes were filled with tears, his lungs burning and head swimming from the sparse gasps he was able to suck down past the mask and hand. The grocery bag stuck to his skin while the zipper of the blond’s coat dug hard into his palm from how tightly he was gripping it. He could feel his cock leaking against the fabric of his underwear, the hot breath against his ear and throat. The cold metal of the door warmed under his palm and his nails lightly dug against it as he scrambled for something to keep him from toppling over from the movements of the train and his weak knees.
He wanted to touch himself so badly.
As if reading his mind, the stranger removed his hand from Emmet’s mouth and quickly shoved it back into his pants. Emmet sighed shakily from relief, the noise stifled by his teeth digging hard into his lower lip. The rough hand curled tight around his cock, stroking him as close to in-sync with his thrusts as the blond could get them.
They huffed and panted, the stranger against his skin and Emmet against the glass. Teeth sunk down onto the nap of Emmet’s neck, dragging a gasp from his lips that he failed to quiet completely. Harder, the mouth at his throat sucked and bit, the man groaning so low that it almost sounded like a growl as he fucked Emmet harder. Harder and faster, driving Emmet up against the door so hard that Emmet couldn’t get a proper lungful of air it felt like.
An announcement played over the intercom.
“We will be approaching Servine Station shortly. Please stay behind the lines.” the computerized voice said cheerfully.
Close, they were both so close.
People were beginning to get their things together. Phones were put up, bags gathered. Snoozing people began to rouse and untangle themselves from their belongings and bags.
It was a race to the finish, the stranger fucking him as hard and fast as he could, his movements stuttering and teeth sinking it harder and harder against Emmet’s neck. Emmet was panting and whining against the glass, his cock throbbing and leaking and twitching in the palm of the stranger.
One, two, three more hard thrusts was all it took.
Emmet covered his own mouth to smother the sharp noise that almost erupted out of him as he came across the fingers wrapped around him, and the stranger ground up into him, releasing his own load deep inside. It was messy and quick and left Emmet reeling, his legs barely able to support himself even with his body pinned completely to the door. Both stood, shaking and gasping for breath for a moment, only until the lights of the station began to brighten the tunnel.
Quickly, the blond pulled out of him, looping an arm around Emmet’s middle to keep him standing as he fumbled with his free hand to get him and himself presentable. He wiped his cum-stained palm against Emmet’s stomach, under his shirt, earning him a pathetic string of coughs and mutterings in response.
A laugh escaped the blond as he eased his grip on Emmet’s waist, stepping back to shove his hands into his coat pockets with a satisfied grin on his flushed face. His eyes rested on the blossoming bruise on Emmet’s throat, the indents of his teeth still present and stinging.
Sluggishly, Emmet pulled away from the door, leaning heavily on the handrail and nearly falling over if it weren’t from the stranger letting him fall back against his chest. “Steady there, sir,” the blond said, his voice light and friendly, as if he hadn’t just spent the last thirty minutes fucking Emmet’s brain out. “It’d be awful for you to fall and hurt yourself.”
Emmet gave him an incredulous look, but couldn’t find the words to describe what he was feeling quick enough.
The train slowed to a stop, and the doors opened. People filed out past him, including the stranger, leaving him clinging to the handrail and staring after the man with a mixture of confusion, frustration, and horror on his face. Was that it? No “here’s my number” or any kind of pleasantries or small talk? He wanted to run after him, at least get his name, but his legs didn’t work. They were too shaky to go chasing after anyone.
It was a miracle that he was even standing with the aid of the handrail.
By the time the doors had closed, Emmet was one of ten people in the train car.
Slowly, he looked over at a nearby seat and stared at it miserably. He wished it were feasible for him to sit down; his ass hurt and his legs were shaking so badly that he didn’t know if he could keep standing. But he refrained from the tempting comfort of the freshly emptied seats.
With a load of cum inside of him, and as cum-soaked as his underwear was, he really didn’t want to sit. He didn’t want to make a mess for people to clean up, and the idea of people sitting where he had after that embarrassing display was too much. He let his forehead rest against the metal with a groan, pressing a hand to his flushed face.
It was going to be a long, long ride back home.